


All Your Hard Edges, Sharpened

by spacehopper, winternacht



Series: Sea Glass [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: Elias had shown a subtle but particular interest in Jon since the moment of his initial job interview - always there to catch Jon when he fell. And to push him, when he needed to take the plunge.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Series: Sea Glass [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683745
Comments: 93
Kudos: 379
Collections: Rusty Kink





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this [kink meme prompt](https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=100708#cmt100708):
> 
> _In the spirit of Hannibal/Will (sort of), I would love to read a story where Elias has shown a subtle but particular interest in Jon since the moment of his initial job interview, and has been very slowly seducing him not only to Beholding, but also to some degree of obedience and 'trust' since then._
> 
> _Just - Elias catching Jon in moments when Jon feels more vulnerable, playing with praises and Jon's own expectations, encouraging Jon's curiosity and his lack of self-preservation just to be the one who catches him afterwards and play the 'steady, comforting presence' etc. until Jon, even though he finally discovers the truth, has been so well-used to him that he needs Elias just as much as he hates him(loves him.)(it's confusing)_
> 
> _...please. _

The Magnus Institute stared down at him, and Jon couldn’t help but shiver. From nervousness or the cold, he couldn’t tell anymore. The anxiety had started this morning, a flurry of last-minute preparation that had sent him out into the freezing streets of London without his gloves. By the time he’d noticed, chafing numb fingers on the tube, it’d been far too late to go back. This was his only chance, every other bridge burned as surely as the book that’d driven him here. His only choice, if he wanted to continue down this path.

And so he took the first step, then another, disturbing the freshly fallen snow. A gust of wind brushed across knuckles frozen red and wormed its way under his worn coat, shaking him and shoving him towards the warmth the Institute promised.

Inside, he was met by a cheerful receptionist, who guided him up to the top floor. To meet Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute. It seemed a bit strange, to be interviewed by the Head, but as the receptionist, Rosie, explained, Mr Bouchard preferred that personal touch, to truly get a good look at anyone who might be hired. The back of Jon’s neck prickled, though she said it with clear fondness. Then she left him to wait in a plain wooden chair outside the door.

Jon rubbed his hands together, tried to hug them against his body for warmth as he took in the surroundings. Hardwood floors, high ceilings, large, open windows. He was half-tempted to get up and take a look outside, just to enjoy the view. And perhaps lean against the radiator as well.

But before he could have got up, the door opened to reveal an austere middle-aged man. Less eccentric than Jon had expected, better dressed than any academic he’d known, but still well within the realm of what he might’ve imagined, had he given much thought to what Bouchard would look like. He greeted Jon and offered his hand as he introduced himself. Jon took it, surprised at how warm it was, before realising how uncomfortably cold his own hand must have been. But if Bouchard minded, he didn’t show it. With a polite smile, he stepped aside to welcome him into his office. Much like Bouchard, it was largely what Jon had expected. A few odd curios on tall shelves. A desk, heavy and ornate. And on one wall, an old portrait of a man whose eyes bored into Jon.

“Jonah Magnus,” Bouchard explained, his voice startling Jon out of what he realised must have been a daze. “The founder of the Institute.”

“Of course,” Jon hurried to say, suddenly remembering the picture he’d seen online. The effect hadn’t been quite the same. “Yes, Mr Bouchard, I’ve—”

“Please, Elias is fine.”

“…Elias. I’ve read all about him. He seems to have lived quite an extraordinary life.”

“Indeed. You’ll be quite pleased to hear, then, that we have a significant part of his correspondence archived.” He gave a good-natured chuckle, easing the knots that had formed in Jon’s stomach. He must have made a good first impression after all.

The interview proceeded much as Jon had imagined, easy questions about his background, his knowledge, his interests. It was all Jon could do to hold himself still, to rein in the tension that had suffused him since he’d walked through the doors of the Institute. His heart thudded wildly in his chest as Elias sat back in his chair, folding his hands with a smile.

“Now, Jonathan. Tell me, why do you think I should hire you?”

“It’s—it’s Jon.” Impertinent, perhaps inappropriate to correct Elias at this point. After all, why did it matter what he called Jon, when he might not even be hired? When he’d let it go each time before, only to now force the issue. But Elias only smiled indulgently and nodded for Jon to continue.

He’d practiced an answer, before. Pacing around his flat, reciting the research he’d done, intending to extol the virtues of the Master’s degree he hadn’t finished even as he explained how Oxford paled in comparison to the Magnus Institute. An opinion few had, but one Jon held sincerely. Crackpots and dreamers, one of his professors had said. But they all still used the library here, when they wanted to dig beyond the safe and easy answers. And as derisive as his professor had been, Jon had seen the book on his desk, how pale he was that night before he’d died. After he’d returned from the Magnus Institute.

The obsession that followed had changed Jon. Or maybe just shaken him from the complacency he’d found. Academic achievement, a girlfriend, something of a social life, even if the friends were more hers than his. But you didn’t get to keep that when you spent all your time asking cutting questions, refusing to let the keen edge of curiosity be turned aside. 

“Because I need to know.” The words escaped before he’d fully formed the thought, the truth of it pushing past the details and the detritus of his former life. For a moment, he thought he’d got it wrong, the instinct to cut the answer short a mistake, as it so often was. But then Elias’s smile widened.

“An unusual answer,” he said and held out his hand again.

Jon took it, noticing now how broad it was, how smooth from the shuffling of papers. A degree from Oxford himself, he’d mentioned. Crisp suits and neatly styled hair, not a man who’d had a hard life. And yet there was a sharpness to his smile that hinted at a canniness lurking just beneath the surface. Enough to make Jon think he wasn’t the placid academic he’d long grown weary of watching fail and fail again.

Jon moved to stand, sensing that the interview had reached its end, but Elias raised a hand, leaving him to drop back in his seat. “Just a moment.” 

He opened a drawer to retrieve a pair of navy suede gloves and held them out to Jon. For a second, Jon simply stared as they hung there in limp invitation. Georgie had always said he was too quick to mistrust kindness. Maybe she was right. Carefully, he reached out to take them, eyes fixed on Elias as he slowly put them on. 

“I understand you forgot your gloves.” Outside the window, the wind howled. “I imagine you’ll be more comfortable with these. You can return them to me on Monday.”

The implication was clear, excitement and dread warring inside Jon as Elias stood and began to put on his coat. When he turned back to Jon, his eyes held something Jon couldn’t quite name, hope or expectation or curiosity. Whatever it was, it was focused on Jon, and though he was no longer cold, he shivered. 

“Welcome to the Magnus Institute. I think you’ll fit in wonderfully.”

* * *

For all the hushed whispers about Leitners among the senior researchers, the books were impossible to find. In the beginning, Jon had eagerly volunteered for every case that was potentially connected, only to suffer one disappointment after another. A death in a respectable library that had been nothing but an accident. A book collector discovering aberrations in an early publication of a famous classic, a simple misprint. An avid reader losing his eyesight to cataracts at the entirely standard age of eight-five. Mundane explanations for mundane events involving mundane books. And in the rare cases that Leitner’s name actually did come up, the persons involved had long passed away, and the only lead would forever remain a poorly filed statement that should have been investigated decades ago. 

Part of him wanted to give up on statements entirely. It would have been easier to shift his attention to the Institute library, which prided itself on its rare and extensive collection. No Leitners among them, as far as he was aware, but the contacts were certainly more reliable. Yet when he was offered one of the coveted positions as librarian staff, he declined. As impressive as the collection was, and as annoying as the utter mess of an archive was, Jon always found himself more drawn to the statements than the books. Still, he enjoyed lingering there after work or during lunch breaks on less eventful days.

The exhaustion of boredom weighed heavy on Jon as he entered the library. His plans for the morning had gone up in smoke when a promising lead had turned out to be nothing but a trail gone cold. At least it would give him enough time to read up on the People’s Church of the Divine Host. He’d heard the name before, one of the earlier cases he’d started investigating before being reassigned to another without much of an explanation. 

He’d been poring over a dissertation on cults for about an hour when he noticed a flickering light, just above one of the shelves in the back of the room. He sighed and changed his seat, turning his back on it. He could always tell maintenance about it later.

But now that he was aware of it, even though it was no longer in his line of sight, it was impossible to ignore, like a vein throbbing in his temple at an erratic rhythm. Like a piercing gaze at the back of his head that let up for seconds before bearing down on him again. 

Jon let the book snap shut and spun around. The flickering had stopped. Jon blinked. He could feel his face heat slightly as he became aware of his overreaction. Quickly, he glanced around. Nobody was around, much to his relief. Settling back in a comfortable position, he opened the book again and tried to continue reading. But he could hardly focus. Whatever it was, it was still there, like a cold hand brushing against his neck. 

Shivering, Jon stood. He should simply inform maintenance of the issue. Or even the head librarian. 

Instead, he went over to the light that had previously flickered. It got dimmer, somehow, the closer he got. Eyes fixed on it, squinting, he stepped between two shelves, right underneath it, and—

He froze when he heard an odd squelching beneath his shoe. When he stepped back, he noticed that the carpet was soaking wet, a dark spot spreading across the floor. Jon inspected the shelf, almost expecting to see a glass of water that had been pushed over, or maybe a leaky pipe up in the ceiling. Instead, just above his head, he saw a book bound in black leather. Unlabelled. His heart started pounding before he consciously formed the thought; he’d found a Leitner.

Drops of moisture glistened on the dark binding, as if someone had fished it out of a lake. And suddenly, he was afraid. Afraid of the dreadful power that was oozing out of the book. Afraid that it would be destroyed if he left it in such a state. His first actual lead. That was the only reason he reached out to it, instinct over thought. Flinching back immediately when his fingers brushed against searing cold, tipping the book out of the shelf. It fell to the ground with a low thud that echoed through the library, opening to a page at the centre. Jon tried to look away. But he found himself mesmerised by the sight. Ink black pages that appeared to be empty but weren’t, he knew. Cradling his hand against his chest, he sank down. From this position, he could see writing on the pages, too faint to actually make out any words. His arm was trembling as he fought the urge to reach out, but he could not stop himself from getting lost in the vast darkness of the page, the sense of the words he wanted, needed to read just within grasp, if only he looked harder, let himself sink deeper, and deeper, and—

He felt it again, just then. A stare boring into his skull with an intensity that made him shudder. He twisted himself away from the iron grip the book had on him, his muscles straining against an invisible force as he turned his head to the side.

“E-Elias,” he mumbled weakly, barely able to say his name between the chattering of his teeth. A droplet of cold water ran down his cheek, and it took him a second to realise it was neither sweat nor a tear. It was the same icy water that had soaked into his hair, his clothes, making his freezing shirt cling to his skin. 

“It’s alright, Jon,” Elias said, approaching slowly. “Focus on me.”

Jon nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Elias’s face. In his peripheral vision, he saw Elias retrieve a divider from one of the shelves. 

“Eyes on me,” Elias warned. Jon blinked, realising that his focus had shifted to Elias’s hand, waiting for it to draw his gaze back to the book. He forced himself to look at Elias’s face instead, into the pale eyes that regarded him so intently. That captured his gaze and did not allow it to stray again.

For a couple of seconds, nothing happened. Then Elias’s arm shot forward, and Jon heard the book snap shut. Only then did he dare peer back down on it. An ordinary book, lying in a dark, wet patch on the carpet. He shivered again. 

“I’ll ask Diana to close down the library for today. It’s lucky you found the book. Who knows what could have happened.” 

“I think I’ve a faint idea,” Jon muttered sourly. He hoped the tone distracted from the tremor in his voice, thin with the terror that constricted his lungs. 

Elias laughed, and Jon felt his lips twitch in response. He would have smiled if his cheeks hadn’t felt so stiff.

“Not many people encountering these books live to tell the tale. It’s quite remarkable that you managed to resist its pull.” 

A faint glow of pride spread in Jon’s chest, and he wondered, briefly, if he should tell Elias about his childhood encounter. About the web that had coiled invisibly around his limbs and puppeteered him towards his doom. Only letting up when the strings had been abruptly cut.

“Come on, now, let’s go to my office. I should have a change of clothes for you, and some tea. Can you stand?”

Jon acquiesced. Now that the book was closed, he could feel its hold over him waning. Life seeped back into his numb limbs, pins and needles stinging warmth back into his skin. Still, when Elias offered his hand to help him up, he took it without hesitation. Elias’s grip was firm, grounding him in this moment, balanced on that edge of fear, the awareness of how easily he could topple back into the freezing abyss if Elias released him. But the second Jon was back on his feet, the absurdity of the thought struck him, and although he would have liked to hold on just a little longer, he dropped Elias’s hand with a nervous laugh. 

He followed Elias to his office, where Elias left him alone for a couple of minutes so he could get changed. A simple white button-down, a grey jumper and slacks, all of which were slightly too large for him, though he appreciated the opportunity to warm his hands in the soft sleeves that reached to his finger tips. When Elias entered again, he placed a cup of tea in front of Jon and sat down across him. He retrieved some paperwork from a drawer and gave Jon some space to sip his tea in peace. 

Jon’s cup was half-empty when he couldn’t hold back his questions any longer. “Are you going to destroy the book?”

Elias looked up from his papers. “Hm. What would you do, Jon? I’ve noticed that you’ve shown a particular interest in cases relating to Leitner. Surely, you must have some thoughts on the matter.”

Just that morning, Jon would have been able to answer immediately and with confidence. Now he hesitated. “It is a dangerous book.” 

Elias agreed. “So, you would destroy it?”

“That- that’s not what I said.” Jon looked down at the cup in his hands, trying to come up with an answer. When he looked at Elias again, his expression hadn’t changed. 

“We’re not in the business of destroying knowledge, Jon,” he finally said, and Jon felt oddly relieved to hear it. “However, we can hardly keep it in the library. But I want you to see where we store them.” He pushed the papers towards Jon, placing his pen on top. “I think it’s time you received your clearance for Artefact Storage.”

* * *

Even with years as a researcher under his belt, Jon had never managed to feel comfortable in Artefact Storage. A tension that was hardly surprising on some level; room after room of murderous paraphernalia wasn’t the sort of place you wanted to relax. But it went beyond the rational caution needed around the contents, a strange tension caught on the tip of his tongue that he could never quite articulate. But discomfort had never stopped Jon from pursuing the truth, and so he turned his attention back to the problem before him.

The worm husk lay in the small glass box, utterly inert. For all Jon knew, it was a perfectly ordinary worm. Certainly, the ECDC were more reliable than most sources, but even they might mistake a case of mundane pest control for the supernatural, should it be an unusually severe case, no matter what Elias said.

Jon shoved the box aside and let his forehead drop to the desk with a thud. The truth was, the worm was likely real. Jane Prentiss was remarkably well-attested, with extensive documentation regarding the details of her case. Documentation that had been handed off to the Magnus Institute when she’d vanished, and then passed by Elias directly to Jon for further study. Like he didn’t have enough to do already, with a lead on one missing Leitner, and a less conclusive rumour of a second. But Elias had said he wanted the best on this case, and Jon had never yet failed to rise to such a challenge. Still, while staring at the worm was getting him nowhere, perhaps this wouldn’t be entirely pointless after all. An afternoon digging through Artefact Storage records had revealed a few Leitners they’d on hand with certain similarities to the Prentiss case, and while the books themselves were locked down for good reason, the records that came with them might shed a bit of light.

“Trying to absorb the information with your brain?”

Jon lifted his head, glaring blearily at Tim, who’d come to stand next to his borrowed desk, arms laden with books that, from what Jon could tell, seemed to be about the circus.

“Very secondary school trick, that,” Tim continued, grinning obnoxiously. “Sleeping on it, hoping the knowledge would just pop right in. Whatever would the Headmaster think, his star pupil slacking off?”

“I’m not trying to absorb it,” Jon said, and regretted giving Tim even that little bit of ground. “I was simply taking a moment to collect my thoughts. And Elias trusts my expertise in this area, that’s all.” He almost argued further, but that would be playing right into Tim’s hands.

“Sure,” Tim said, adjusting his armful of books, looking over at the door to the storage room. “But maybe you should try to do some thinking at home? Kind of late, and you’ve looked better. I don’t think that worm is getting any deader.” He reached for the box, clearly intending to tap it before Jon yanked it away.

“Thank you, Tim. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Jon said, with more venom than was probably merited. The exhaustion really was getting to him.

But before he could mutter a tired apology, Tim gave an easy smile and waved it off. A gesture Jon was grateful for, and one of the reasons he tended to get along with Tim, despite his antics. Most people just took things so personally.

“Suit yourself. See you Monday?”

“Of course.” 

Tim hovered expectantly, and Jon sighed. “Have a good weekend, Tim.”

“You too.” He gave a final wave and headed out the door, leaving Jon alone in the empty storage room.

Really, alone was for the best. While Artefact Storage was not exactly a high traffic area, it did tend to have people coming in and out at the worst possible moments, doing tests, fiddling with the artefacts. If only Sonja weren’t so damn protective of her records, Jon would’ve happily left the worm and gone elsewhere. Still, now that everyone had left, it wasn’t so bad. The perpetually dim room was now darker with the other lamps shut off, leaving only Jon’s desk illuminated, a bubble of light that kept his eyes from straying and focused on the information right in front of him instead.

He paged through the records, scribbling notes, but nothing was conclusive. One book seemed to be about the plague, which might have a tangential relation. Certainly, the rotting of the home where it was found had a familiar flavor. The other was almost more promising, and all the more disquieting for it. The slow creeping of webs, the ensnaring of limbs, and the skittering of tiny legs across skin. Jon shivered, hand going to his arm as it twitched in sympathy, but there was nothing there, of course. The storage rooms were all far too well sealed for spiders. Still, as he read on, the itching sensation on the back of his neck only increased, and the idea of thousands of tiny eyes crawled into his brain. Spiders, followed by the sudden absence of spiders, while knowing those silent watchers weren’t absent at all.

Shuddering, he pushed the records aside with a groan, stretching and staring out into the room. While there was a certain resemblance, it still didn’t quite fit. Nothing to do but note the research down and declare the result inconclusive, like so many other cases he’d completed over the years. And Tim was right; it was best he get some sleep.

But as he gathered his notes and tucked them in his bag, his eye caught on a faint glimmer in distance, well into the heart of the storage area. A hint of gold, peeking out from beneath a heavy cover, slightly askew. But then, what could he expect? Martin must have been examining it, and he was nothing if not incompetent. Jon almost left it like that, as evidence of Martin’s carelessness, but if there was one thing he’d learned in his years at the Institute, it was that it was unwise to leave these things be. So he trudged across the room, rummaging in his bag for the torch he’d kept ever since his close encounter in the library. Two years back now, and he’d not had a similar incident, but it never hurt to be careful.

As he approached the artefact, shining his light on it, he realised it must have been that mirror frame he’d read about. Its empty corner peeked out from beneath the shroud, which was in even greater disarray than he’d first thought, dangling half off the ornate frame. 

With his free hand, he reached up to tug it back into place, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t get it right, the heavy velvet cover simply slipping to the side again. Best to start from scratch, then. And he had to admit he was…curious, to see what it might really be.

He gave a final look around the room, guilt, reproach and a giddy excitement twisting in his stomach. Then he turned back to the mirror, holding his torch high as he pulled the velvet free. Just as the description had stated, the frame was empty, the only thing behind it the rest of the storage room, with its assortment of artefacts. Almost disappointing in a way, though it was probably for the best.

With a great deal of reluctance, he set the torch on the floor. It left the room in deeper shadow, but there was no way he’d secure the cover without both hands. As he lifted the fabric, movement caught his eye. Was someone still here? He didn’t dare breathe as he stared into the dark beyond the frame. No, nothing, just a trick of the light and his own tired brain. But when he hooked the fabric over one corner, he noticed it again. Clear movement, and it wasn’t just the light. He dropped the cover, leaning down to grab the torch and shine it through the frame. Again, it seemed like there was nothing.

Nothing, and yet the itching on his neck only increased. His heart thudded in his chest, a panic that was entirely irrational. The artefacts were dangerous, but they were contained. He wouldn’t give into fear. Not when there might be something here, if only he looked harder. If only he could really, truly see.

His breath hitched, and at first he thought the image forming had to be another trick. But unlike before, the form only grew more solid. Clad in a dove grey suit, with a stern cast to his lips Jon recognised all too well, though darkness still clung around his eyes, casting them into shadow. Unthinking, he took a step forward, mouth open to call out, words abruptly stopping when he finally saw what that darkness hid. The gaping holes, empty and hungry and impossible as it was, watchful. And fixed entirely on Jon.

He recoiled, the torch falling from his hand as he staggered back, a scream building in his throat, only interrupted as a calm voice called his name. Jon spun around, now face to face with— 

“Elias.”

Dressed exactly as he had been in the mirror, his brow furrowed in concern, eyebrows drawn tight over entirely normal eyes. Bewildered, Jon swung back around to look at the frame as Elias strode past him to toss the cover back in place. And this time, it held.

When he stepped towards Jon, Jon recoiled again, though there was no reason. Just his mind playing tricks on him, because Elias couldn’t be reflected in an empty frame. Still, he kept his distance, swallowing hard against the barely suppressed panic.

“Jon, why are you still here?” When Jon failed to answer, Elias did step closer, and this time Jon didn’t back away. “What did you see?”

His eyes were strangely bright in the dark room. Just a reflection of the lamp at Jon’s back, he knew. There was nothing terrifying about Elias. If anything, Elias was exactly who he needed, his theoretical knowledge and his brusque certainty.

Still, he almost claimed to have seen nothing. But the words died in his mouth, and he found himself telling the truth.

“I saw you.” His gaze remained fixed on Elias’s eyes, watching for absence, finding only concern and curiosity. Best not to mention it the details. Elias might take it the wrong way. “But I’m tired, and it’s dark. It was likely just an illusion, Troxler’s Fading, something like that.”

Even he could tell how weak his protests sounded, but still, he hoped Elias would accept them. A vain hope, as Elias would certainly want procedure to be followed. A report, maybe a follow-up. But at least then Jon could go home. Could leave behind the mirror. And the part of him that wanted to look again.

“Hardly unlikely,” Elias said, close enough now Jon could feel the heat from his body. “But I wouldn’t discount what you saw so easily.”

Jon snorted, the far more familiar comfort of scepticism colouring his words. “What, it’s some sort of prophecy? Are you going to scratch my eyes out?” His voice sharpened by an edge of panic he hoped Elias didn’t notice.

“Mm, nothing quite so gruesome. You do have a flare for the dramatic, don’t you?” His lips twitched up into a small smile. “And you know, in the original folklore, it wasn’t a witch or ghost in the mirror. A young woman might see her future husband there. Though a more sinister possibility remained.”

“And what was that?” Jon asked, curious despite himself.

“Death. A metaphor, perhaps? The death of her old life, the birth of a new one. It’s the sort of thing that would’ve been fashionable at the time. Or maybe it was a warning.” He inclined his head to Jon. “What do you think?”

“I think—” He frowned, glancing from Elias to the now covered frame. Hadn’t Elias once mentioned he used to work in Artefact Storage? “What did you see?”

Elias chuckled, the warmth of it calming Jon like nothing had until now. “I saw Gertrude Robinson, our esteemed Head Archivist.”

It hadn’t been what Jon expected. Not that he’d expected anything in particular, but still, it seemed strange. “Did she—do anything to you?”

“Oh, Jon, of course not. I never did find out what it might mean. This was back in 1994, and as you can see, nothing terrible has happened to either of us yet. The reason reports are required is not because the mirror is the most dangerous artefact here, but because it’s one of the most mysterious.” He gestured towards the door, Jon proceeding him with some reluctance, his eyes drawn again back to the covered frame. “It has so many secrets yet to be revealed. I think that’s more fascinating than any worm infested book, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jon said, and realised it wasn’t a lie. “Would I be able to look into it more?” When Elias raised an eyebrow, he hastily added, “Research it, I mean. I’m well aware of the danger of something even we don’t understand.”

“Perhaps,” Elias said as he opened the door and ushered Jon into the hall. “If your schedule allows. I’ll speak to you about it next week?”

“Right. That—right.” Jon watched as Elias shut the door behind him, turning the lock. It slid into place with a heavy click. “What were you still doing here?”

“Oh, nothing important. Just some unforeseen scheduling issues, with an upcoming project. Easy enough to resolve, and sooner than I’d hoped.”

“That’s good,” Jon said, trailing Elias down the hall, still feeling like he was missing something. “Could I help? I understand the Prentiss case is urgent, but honestly, it’s fairly inconclusive.”

To his surprise, Elias stopped, turning back to favour him with a smile that lit up his eyes.

“I suspected as much. And yes, I think you might be just the person I need. It seems you really do have an eye for these things.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Relax, Jon, this isn’t intended to be an official performance review,” Elias told him as he motioned to the seat. Jon nodded stiffly and sat down, his body tense in a way the cushioned chair barely allowed for. Official or not, none of his previous reviews had ever come at such an inconvenient time. Now the ever-present ticking of the clock in Elias’s office simply reminded him of the time he had wasted. The time he could be using now to fix the issue and provide Elias with a flawless report. “Now, tell me, how has your first week been?” 

“It’s been… good.” For the most part, and that was what Jon tried to focus on—successful teamwork, faster than expected progress of his digitalisation efforts—but after a while, he could no longer contain his scowl. “The idea of recording the statements seems to have been well received all around, but…”

“But what?” Elias leaned forward, and Jon felt his insides twist, knowing that he would have to admit to failure so soon after taking the position. The most important position within the Institute, Elias had told him, even if some disagreed. It certainly gave him a reason to spend what little spare time he had on learning the ropes of his new job, with the help of every resource he could get his hands on, even at the cost of sleep. 

“There have just been these… statements.” He cleared his throat, tried to figure out a way to phrase the issue that made complaining about it seem reasonable. After all, it was ridiculous, trivial, and certainly not something to bother Elias with. Especially since he had been so supportive of his decision to create a digital archive with audio versions. “They… I can’t record them for some reason. They always come out distorted.”

Jon expected Elias to laugh, and he hardly would’ve blamed him if he had. But instead, Elias simply looked thoughtful. 

“Did Gertrude ever encounter any issues with statements?” Jon asked. 

Elias shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Are you sure it’s not just a software issue?” 

“Yes, I’m sure.” It came out just as harshly as Jon had been trying to avoid, and he gave an exaggerated little cough. “I’ll try again. Maybe I’ll ask Sasha for advice when she comes back from her investigation.”

“Why don’t you just set them aside?” Elias suggested. “You’re hardly going to run out of statements any time soon.”

“Yes, but…” He didn’t know why he couldn’t just forget about them. There was no need, after all, to record them right now. Or ever, given how outlandish some of them were. But somehow, it felt wrong to simply skip them, to leave them unrecorded. He looked at Elias and bit his lip.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” he finally said. Elias smiled at him, and Jon hesitantly smiled back.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said. “Let me know when you do.”

The next week came and went, and the statements still resisted any attempt at recording. Sasha had checked the hardware, reinstalled the software, but to no avail. And Jon found it harder and harder to ignore the five statements sitting at the edge of his desk, not quite a pile yet but well on its way of becoming one if he didn’t find a way to deal with them soon.

By Friday evening, his assistants had already left, and Jon was still in his office, feeling stuck. The thought of simply going home after another unsuccessful week made his stomach churn. Elias had picked him because he had confidence in him. And now Jon already felt as if he’d let him down. And no matter how often Jon tried to convince himself that it was a minor issue, it felt bigger. Maybe nerves, the general stress of a new position accepted with little background and no training. God, he wanted it to be nerves. But whatever the source of his agitation, he found himself unable to sit still any longer but loathe to go home and leave his work unfinished. 

Instead, he decided to take the opportunity to explore the Archives a bit. Elias had given him a quick tour, but he’d glossed over the storage rooms, most of which had been off-limits to him previously. 

The number of unlabelled boxes was hardly surprising. More statements, just what he needed, and all of them a chaotic mess. But that was for another day, or more likely, another few decades. One room proved both more organized and useful, containing a cot he could easily picture himself retreating to it when he needed a quiet moment. Or perhaps he should get rid of it and find a way to use the space in a more efficient manner. 

The last room he entered was another storage room, narrower than the others. When he reached for a light switch, something brushed against his hand, and he jumped before he realised what it was—a string to turn on the small light right above the doorway. He laughed nervously and turned on the light.

Dust motes swirled in the dimly illuminated room, coating his throat after only a handful of breaths and sending him into a brief coughing fit. He swallowed hard, breathing shallowly as he peered around the room. More boxes. Of course. He’d be lucky if he ever got to them. Maybe he’d send Martin in to deal with them, when he was being particularly useless. But for now, they could wait. He was just about to leave when his eyes caught something sitting on a wooden box at the other end of the room, propped up against the wall. Curiously, he approached, turning sideways to avoid bumping into a particularly precarious cardboard construction on his way. It took him a second to realise that it was a tape recorder and an unopened pack of cassette tapes. He picked up the recorder, cringing slightly as his fingers glided over a layer of dust, revealing black plastic underneath. He half-expected it to be broken, just another piece of trash lying around the Archives, but turning it over revealed no damage. He snorted. As if he’d have any use for it. Then again… 

The first test was a success, recording his name and occupation. The quality wasn’t quite as good as digital, but it didn’t sound too bad, and he had to admit, there was a certain flair to it he enjoyed. Perhaps he’d finally be able to convert them to digital from the tapes. And given its age and grimy state, he was relieved that the recorder actually worked. Even the batteries were still intact. So he reached for the shortest of the troublesome statements, and started recording.

Exhaustion gave way to a rush of excitement as he addressed Elias in his introduction, trying to keep his voice neutral and professional. Certain that this time, it would finally work, the recorder whirring reassuringly as he spoke. Though when he actually glanced over the statement, annoyance clouded his tone again. To think a nonsensical fragment had given him such trouble. It was almost a waste of tape.

His irritation all but died after he read the first syllable, and the atmosphere curdled. The hairs stood on his arms. Every fibre of his body screamed at him to stop, but the words kept flowing out of him, without stumbles or pauses, unhindered by the sharp coil of fear that tightened in his stomach. The statement giver’s threat burned on his tongue like ash, and a thin layer of dread settled on his skin as he heard himself repeat his words, filled with such hatred for Institute, for—for him. 

It should have been enough to make him drop the paper immediately. But—he couldn’t. Not before the statement ended. Before it reached completion. And as the thought etched itself into his mind, he felt it—at the back of his head, the hunger of an eager gaze. 

When the last word was spoken, Jon nearly crumpled in his chair, the horrible tension lifting all at once, leaving behind a dizzying mix of relief and emptiness. But he couldn’t allow himself to show how much it had affected him. So he finished the recording in the same cadence he’d used for his introduction. Neutral and professional. Following the script he’d mentally composed beforehand.

His fingers trembled as he ejected the tape, legs barely obeying as he stood. But he forced himself to push through the fog of fatigue and apprehension. This couldn’t wait, even if he barely understood why. 

The top floor was illuminated only by the street lamps outside when Jon stepped out of the lift. For a moment, he thought he might be too late, a strange panic fluttering in his chest, until he noticed the thin strip of light emerging from Elias’s office. Relief bloomed in Jon’s chest as he hurried towards it. He tried to leave behind his trepidation as he knocked on the door firmly, one hand already on the doorknob.

“Come in.” 

Jon pushed the door open, his spirits lifting as he stepped into the familiar warm glow of the office. He’d arrived just in time—Elias’s briefcase the only item remaining on the spotless desk. 

“I apol—” he started, but Elias was faster. “Is everything alright, Jon? You look out of sorts.” 

His voice was laced with concern, and he stepped closer, one arm lifting slightly, as if to catch Jon, should the need arise. He must really look a mess.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Feeling quite silly, all of a sudden. “It’s just… well, good news, actually. I found a way to record the problem statements.” He held out the tape, and Elias’s eyes lit up. “But of course, it’s rather late, so if you were already on your way home—” 

“No, let me hear it, Jon.” Jon nodded hesitantly and followed Elias to the back of the room, where he’d opened a cabinet, revealing a cassette deck, among other devices. He held his hand out for the tape; Jon gave it to him. Stood by as Elias replayed the brief recording, squeezing his hands together in order to keep them still. At least his voice sounded calm enough. Downright bored. Inconspicuous. 

“…let me know if you’re able to hear that correctly, Elias. If so, I think we can begin transcribing the rest of the statements.”

The recording ended, and for a few seconds, the only thing filling the silence was the ticking of the clock. Giving Jon something to focus on, to measure his pulse against as he anticipated Elias’s reaction.

“I suppose that counts as a confirmation,” Elias finally said. “Well done. I knew if someone could tackle some of the more, hm, unique challenges of the job, it would be you.” He smiled, and Jon tried to smile back, but he didn’t quite succeed.

“Is something the matter, Jon?”

Jon hesitated, lips pressed together. It was ridiculous, especially given how unconcerned Elias seemed. And the last thing he wanted was for Elias to believe he couldn’t handle the job. “I have seen some unusual statements during my time as a researcher, but none of them aimed such… aggression towards the Institute,” he said carefully. “Elias, is there something I should be aware of?”

“Our projects do draw some negative attention sometimes,” Elias said, and sighed. “Rest assured, however, that our security personnel are trained to handle any conflict. Besides, upon closer inspection, most of these ‘threats’ have turned out to be pranks. They rarely happened before the leak, but alas. Knowledge, once freed, can seldom be contained again.”

A prank. Yes, that was the most obvious explanation. And the stress of the new position getting to him.

“Still, Jon, I’m glad you brought this to my attention, because whether it’s a prank or not, it still merits investigation. And I do encourage you to keep me up to date on any suspicious activity. But for now, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Apart from your own well-being. You should really get some rest.”

Jon nodded, taken aback by the effort the small action took. As if his head was filled with lead, though the intense weight of anxiety had lessened a little after their conversation. He really wanted to believe what Elias was saying. And the other statements he’d found so far had been entirely ordinary, recording issues aside. 

“Now, if there’s nothing else to discuss…” Elias reached for his coat.

“No, that was all. Thank you, Elias.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your weekend, Jon.” He gave Jon’s shoulder a light squeeze. This time, Jon easily returned his smile. 

But once he and Elias had parted ways at the end of the hall, Jon found the exhaustion seeping deeper into his bones. Maybe the cot would be quite useful after all. 

The mattress wasn’t the most comfortable, and he had to use the change of clothes he now kept in his office as a makeshift pillow and blanket. As he took off his shirt, his hand lingered over his shoulder, an echo of a gentle touch. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Truly, he needed to sleep. He curled up on the mattress and closed his eyes. In the heart of the Institute, finally finding some much needed reprieve.

* * *

Jon looked up into the growing dark creeping through his tiny office window, and buried his face in his hands. A week ago, he would’ve simply slept on the small cot in the Archives, but Martin still hadn’t left, and Jon could hardly blame him. Even without encountering Jane Prentiss personally, he found himself nervous after dark. And before dark, if he were being honest. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push himself into wakefulness, and when that didn’t work, opened them anyway.

The book open on the table was one of many he’d gone through, struggling to shed some light on Albrecht von Closen’s letter. In truth, he’d already spent longer on it that he should’ve. A 19th-century German ghost was unlikely to prove a threat worth focusing on, and was distant enough in time and space that the research had produced a variety of tall tales and next to no concrete facts. It was why he hadn’t bothered to ask his assistants to look into it. When he’d found it, he’d simply meant to return it to its proper place among the other letters addressed to Jonah Magnus. One of their most popular collections, though more often consulted by aficionados of historical horror rather than true scholars. But as Elias had often reminded him, these patrons formed the solid core of the donors who funded their true research. And so they must be catered to, however much their ridiculous obsessions grated on Jon.

Better Elias didn’t know he was digging into dusty old histories and gruesome true crime tales about long forgotten murders. Knowing him, he’d find it amusing, that Jon had fallen victim to that same macabre curiosity. Not that he’d needle him, exactly. But the humor would be there, in how the corners of his eyes crinkled as he made an otherwise innocent comment on the value of all sorts of scholarship.

If he were being honest, his interest was partially in the same remove he expected attracted those curious donors. There was a certain comfort in focusing on something that couldn’t possibly hurt him, when a real threat was skulking through London’s streets. One interested in him, a thought that drew him back to the book, his hand trembling slightly as he turned the page to avoid the thought of what his crimson fate might entail, only to be confronted with a gory illustration of a man torn limb from limb. Would that happen to him, if Jane Prentiss had her way? But no, she wasn’t the dismemberment type, was she. Instead, the worms would burrow underneath his skin, eating him from the inside until there was nothing left but bone. 

He shuddered, dragging a hand down his face before reaching for his mobile, tapping it to show the time. Half-past eight, not so late he wouldn’t have plenty of company on the tube. It should be fine to leave. And even if the threat was real, half of his present terror was only his fevered imagination run wild on too much morbid research and far too little sleep. The old statement had been surprisingly disturbing, worming its way into his nightmares in the form of a graveyard enveloped in mist. His eyes slipped shut, breath slowing as his office seemed to retreat around him. Almost silent, except for the sound of distant crying. The boy’s mother, lost within the tomb? He tried to make out the words, but it was as pointless as trying to grab a fistful of fog. All he could tell with some measure of certainty was that they didn’t sound German.

His lips pursed as he tried to remember the sky. It was different, somehow. Not the close canopies of the Black Forest, but an open expanse filled with—clouds? No, but not stars either, though he was certain it was night. The crying grew louder, and he began to turn, an apology on his lips though he didn’t know why, and then—

“Jon? What are you still doing here?”

The book flew from his desk, flung by the arm he hadn’t realised he’d extended. It landed on the floor in front of Elias, who picked it up, running a finger down the gold lettered spine.

“Grim Tales? I’m sure historical murders make for an interesting read, but I can’t imagine it has much relevance to any of the statements. And I know you’ve been quite firm in your preference for the more pressing matters of the present.” He closed the book with a snap, crossing the remaining steps to Jon’s desk and setting it there. “But then, you’re well outside of working hours anyway, given when you arrived.” He frowned. “Are you ill?”

“No! No, I just—” Nightmares, if they could be called that, disturbing and intriguing, clawing at the corners of his mind. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Of course.” Elias’s face softened. “Jane Prentiss is a real concern, and one I take quite seriously.” He rested a hand on Jon’s desk, leaning closer, his voice low. “Are you sure there’s not more I can do? I know I assured you early in your tenure that the threats had never been serious, and I regret now that I seem to be forced to eat my words.”

Jon stared into Elias’s eyes, wide and dark. And for a moment, he swore they were empty, a gaping expanse of pitted flesh waiting to be filled. He swallowed hard, shaking his head to clear it, breaking that brief moment of contact. When he looked again, the shade of that apparition was gone. And it was just the Elias he knew and trusted. “It’s fine. It’s just…hard to adjust.” He laughed sheepishly. “It’s why I decided to focus on this statement.” He rifled through his top draw, setting the yellowed pages on the desk. “An old letter to Jonah Magnus. Interesting, but not entirely relevant.”

To Jon’s surprise, Elias picked it up, turning the pages fondly as a small smile crossed his lips. When Jon made an inquiring noise, he set it down, giving it a gentle pat before looking back at Jon. “I’ve read that one myself, quite early in my tenure. I had no idea Gertrude had managed to mix it in with the more recent statements.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what Gertrude managed to mix in,” Jon muttered, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

“It’s quite a tale, isn’t it? Like an old ghost story. If you’re interested, I recall a book dealing with the history of the region. I think I still might have it in my office.”

“I—Right. I know I should really move on, but…”

“We’re a research institution. While it’s true the Archives are more focused on recent incidents, I wouldn’t want to discourage you from choosing what path you feel is best.” Elias laughed quietly. “And as we both know, there’s a certain fascination to an unsolved mystery. What is a statement, but a secret not yet revealed?” He picked up the book, holding it out to Jon. “I trust your instincts. I wouldn’t have made you the Archivist if I didn’t. And I do look forward to hearing the recording once you’ve finished your research. You bring a certain life to the statements, beyond what I’d have thought possible.”

“Right, that’s—that’s good to hear. Thank you. I’ll make sure you get the tape.” His shoulders straightened, lips twitching into a small, pleased smile as he took the book and tucked it back into the drawer, before standing to get his coat. “I really should go now, but I’ll come by for the book tomorrow?”

“Excellent.” Elias held the door for him, and Jon proceeded into the empty Archives. “Perhaps over lunch, if that’s acceptable. I’ve been meaning to meet with you, to see how it’s going, but I’ve found myself rather busy of late. And you’ve hardly had an excess of time yourself.”

It took Jon a moment to process the question. While a lunch meeting was hardly odd, it wasn’t something Elias seemed to engage in. Jon had always thought he was the sort the keep his work entirely divorced of anything more mundane like the practicalities of eating. But then, he had to eat sometime, and since Jon’s promotion, they’d needed to meet more frequently. Perfectly normal, given his more supervisory duties. 

And it might be nice, as strange as it seemed. Certainly, many of his colleagues found Elias rather distant, too stiff. Bit of a stick up his arse, Tim had once remarked. But Jon had always found his company comfortable. Never needing to worry he’d offend Elias, always certain that Elias would tell him the truth, no matter how unpleasant it was. It would be nice to have some of that keen insight, right now.

“Of course. Yes, that would be—good.”

As they reached the front doors, Elias stopped once more, looking Jon up and down, his expression utterly inscrutable.

“Good night, Jon. And get some rest.”

It almost sounded like an order, but then Elias had never danced around this sort of thing. As much as a more juvenile part of Jon wanted to protest, he had to admit, Elias was right. Sleep might yet clear some of the fog from his mind.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And take care not to stay too late. The night can do strange things to the mind.”

With that final, odd statement, Elias went out into the night, and Jon was alone again.

* * *

Once the whirring of the tape recorder stopped, the Archives fell silent. Another time, he might’ve enjoyed the quiet. The reprieve from Martin’s nervous checking that Jon couldn’t fault, from Tim’s forced good cheer, and the way Sasha seemed to focus on her work with an almost frightening intensity. They were all on edge, and there was nothing Jon could do. The reality he’d been trying to hide from had come crashing down on all of them. All that was left to do was wait, and prepare for the next strike.

Alone among the remnants of the attack, Jon found himself listening for the slightest hint of noise—distant squelching sounds, the writhing of thin worms across hardwood floor. The horrid song of their feasting as they burrowed in his flesh, trying to make him one of their own. But they were dead. Elias had confirmed what the ECDC had told him, and it should have been enough. And yet. 

He couldn’t forget about what had happened to Gertrude. She must have been sitting right in his chair when she was attacked. The thought made him sick, washing over him in a haze of dizziness. Would he meet the same fate, at the hands of her killer? If nothing else tried to kill him first.

Jon swore under his breath as he slowly pushed himself up, squeezing his eyes shut while he adjusted to the fresh wave of pain emanating from bright-hot spots all across his body. Draining the last dregs of his energy, leaving him panting, both hands on his desk, the sole anchor against a final collapse. When his breathing finally steadied, he slowly made his way to the lift, careful to place his crutches on solid ground as he moved past the remainder of Prentiss’s now lifeless hive. From the corner of his eye, he could still see them twist, eager to delve beneath his skin again. A trick of the light mingling with memories so vivid Jon couldn’t help wondering if they would ever fade, every breath of stale air he took etching them into his mind anew, worn paths scored deeper with every pass.

The lift was already in motion when he called it, and he braced himself for a long wait. There was some comfort, at least, in the mechanical hum of gears turning. A familiar sound. If only he could make himself close his eyes, too. But maybe that was exactly what they were waiting for. Whoever, whatever they might be.

Every muscle in Jon’s body grew tense when the doors opened to reveal someone already inside, before he realised it was Elias. Relief washed over him, then ebbed away when he remembered what Elias had done. Elias had kept secrets from him, pretending that there was no danger to him or the Institute. If he had lied about that, then there were other things he might have lied about as well. Elias could have killed Gertrude. 

But he also could have killed Jon. The worms would’ve done his dirty work, and all he’d have had to do was wait. But he hadn’t. He’d saved Jon, and Tim as well, when he could’ve fled the building, escaped entirely unscathed. Who could have blamed him, really, considering the waves of filth crawling through the corridors? And still, he’d risked his own life for them, putting their safety and survival above his own. So when Elias stepped aside to make space for him, despite everything that had happened, Jon found himself relaxing, and moving gratefully to his side.

“Perfect timing,” Elias said. “The ECDC are planning to send in a team to deal with the hive in about half an hour, and I believe you’ve had enough of all that for today.” His hand hovered above the panel. “Shall we go to my office? I can call you a cab from there. I suppose the ECDC will want to take a look in there as well, but of course, the Archives are the priority now.”

“I…” Jon hesitated. The thought of someone going through his Archives was almost nauseating, and he was tempted to stay after all, to continue keeping watch. Just to be safe. Just to be certain that nothing else went wrong. “What about the statements?” 

Elias gave him a reassuring smile. “Martin and Sasha have volunteered to oversee the operation.”

Jon’s face fell, and he felt a sudden pang of remorse. He could admit he’d been wrong about Martin. And Sasha had always been reliable. And yet. 

“Can’t I-” 

“Jon, just look at yourself.” Elias sighed. “It’s a miracle you’re not bleeding through your bandages already. How about I stay instead?” 

Jon gave it a thought. He’d really rather do it himself. However, he could trust Elias to have an interest in making sure the statements remained untouched. “Alright.” 

“Good. To my office, then?” 

Upon Jon’s nod, he pushed the button. 

The sofa in Elias’s office was softer than Jon would’ve guessed from the sight of it. He sank into it and sighed, his eyes already slipping shut when Elias opened the window and let in some fresh air. Vaguely, it occurred to him that they must be right above his own office, down in the Archives. He’d never paid it any mind, but on his way from the lift, he’d noticed the distance was the same. 

The sofa creaked quietly, and Jon cracked his eyes open to see Elias next to him, regarding him with a thoughtful expression. “Do you want to quit, Jon?” 

The question was like a bucket of cold water, and Jon sat up, wincing through the pain. “Are you telling me I should?” 

“Of course not. You’d be very difficult to replace,” Elias said. He sounded earnest, and Jon allowed himself to lean back. His head was pounding with the sudden rush of blood, distress that was only slowly receding, eased by the unexpected praise, hampered by the dozens of wounds reigniting with every breath he took. Elias shifted closer and placed a hand on Jon’s. A touch so light he nearly missed it. Smooth fingers gently brushing over exposed skin, one of the few places spared. It grounded him, soothing away the tension that had knotted tight in his chest.

“But should you choose to resign, I’ll provide any references needed, as well as generous severance pay,” Elias continued. “After such a horrifying ordeal—” 

“I’m not going to quit,” Jon said firmly. How could he? When so many questions were still unanswered. When he knew that even if he did quit, he wouldn’t be safe. It might even get worse, without the scant protection the Institute provided, with its vast knowledge of the supernatural. How much worse would it have been, if Jon hadn’t known about Jane Prentiss at all? How easy would it have been, to be lured to his death?

“Good.” It was all Elias said, but he said it in a way that briefly lifted the weight from Jon’s shoulders, let the tension drain away, making room for bone-deep exhaustion to settle in. 

“Now, about that cab…” Elias let go of Jon’s hand and retrieved his phone from his suit jacket. Jon found himself immediately missing the touch. The comfort it had brought. Distantly, he was aware that it wasn’t the kind of comfort he should seek. But that mattered so little in light of everything that had happened.

“I think I’d like to stay,” Jon said, unthinking. “At least… until the Archives are cleaned.”

Something he would have proposed either way. Now it almost felt like an excuse. He fully expected Elias to protest. But instead, he simply agreed. Grateful, Jon settled in a comfortable position, closing his eyes. Only opening them when he heard Elias’s voice calling to him quietly. Standing in front of Jon, carrying a blanket. Jon hadn’t even heard him retrieve it.

“Thank you, Elias.” Groggily, he watched as Elias unfolded the blanket, let him drape it over Jon, gently tucking it around his shoulders with infinite care. Avoiding the worst of his injuries, fingers feather light where they did touch Jon’s skin. And as Elias leaned over him, Jon caught a whiff of his cologne, a pleasant woody scent that lingered even as he stepped back.

“I’m going to lock you in,” Elias said, and placed a key next to him on the sofa. “This is the spare key, in case you need to leave the room.”

Jon watched as Elias exited, closing the door behind him. Not looking away until he finally heard the lock turn, sighing as it snapped into place. Leaving him with the perfect opportunity to take a closer look at Elias’s office. To search for evidence, whether proof of guilt or exoneration. But it all started slipping away from Jon. One last time, he looked at the portrait of Jonah Magnus. His gaze was as intent as ever. Familiar, by now. And under his watchful eye, Jon drifted off, the gentle ticking of the clock sending him falling into the depths of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon slid Elias’s key into the lock, and hesitated. Fear and determination had driven him into the night, wincing as each step tugged on his still healing wounds. But it wasn’t that bad, certainly no reason for him to remain in bed, no matter what Martin thought. If anything, the fact so many people wanted him to stay away was even more cause to be here, to investigate what they were hiding while no one was around to stop him. Resolve returning, he turned the key, flinching at the click, far too loud in the silent, empty hallway. But no one came to yell at him, to ask what he thought he was doing. Just as he’d expected, had known. And when he opened the door, the office was empty, lit by pale moonlight skimming the outline of the chair that must have sat empty for hours. 

Jon pulled the key from the lock, hand tightening around it, driving the sharp metal into his skin. It slipped in his sweaty palm, and he gasped as it caught the edge of a wound. His eyes darted around, to the imposing lines of bookshelves, the neatly organised desk, the still open door. The latter he shut behind him with a sigh of relief. No one had heard. No one was waiting. Or watching.

Still, he felt the familiar itch on the back of his neck as he made his way carefully to the desk, avoiding the floorboard he knew creaked and the curled edge of the rug. Could someone be watching, or worse, something? Or was it just a twinge of guilt, for abusing Elias’s kindness, his trust. Using the trust he’d shown in giving Jon the key to turn around and betray him. 

But it didn’t matter now. Jon was here, so he was going to see this through. And it wasn’t like he wanted anything except the key to the tunnels. Just to make sure, to know what was down there. To find the evidence he needed, to allay his suspicions. To remove the doubts he could no longer suppress, about the people he’d once trusted. If the answer was there, he’d find it. And if it wasn’t… 

He drew in a shaky breath. If the tunnels didn’t hold what he sought, then he’d deal with it then. For now, he’d made his decision. And while he’d considered asking Elias for permission, Jon knew he’d never allow it, wouldn’t understand why Jon needed to check. Telling Jon to calm down, to go home, to heal and rest. No real danger, he’d told Jon once. Well, look how that’d turned out.

So he began to rifle through the drawers.

The first held an assortment of office supplies, paperclips in neat little containers, pens lined up in a box, an elegant pad of paper Elias often used to leave notes for Jon. The second contained a leather-bound book containing a schedule of all the dull meetings Elias had each day, along with the carefully folded itinerary for some business trip to a sister institution tucked between the pages. Rather old fashioned, but maybe it was simply a backup. Either way, it wasn’t important, nor was the tape recorder Jon noted in the bottom drawer, even if he itched to press play and see what it might hold. Finally, he found what he was after in the next drawer, among such an assortment of keys he doubted Elias would miss it.

At the only remaining drawer, he hesitated again. He had what he wanted. Why look further? And it wasn’t like he’d found anything of interest. Then again, what could it hurt? If he didn’t seize the moment, he knew he’d regret it. 

He tugged open the drawer and was rewarded with another pang of guilt, twisting hot and ugly inside him as his gaze fell on the blanket tucked inside. The same one Elias had given him, when he’d let Jon stay, when he hadn’t sent him home. When he’d seemed to understand that Jon couldn’t leave the Archives, the Institute, no matter how irrational it was. His fingers brushed the fabric, soft and worn, and he picked it up on impulse. Just to see what might be underneath. The smell of cologne rose in the air as Jon set the blanket aside, and for a brief moment, he was on the sofa again, warm and safe in a way he hadn’t felt for weeks before or since.

Beneath the blanket was nothing but a first aid kit. Of course. Just another thing to help. Jon stuffed the blanket back inside, shutting the drawer before his resolve cracked beneath the weight of his guilt, and hurried back towards the door.

His hand was already turning the knob when the floor creaked.

If he’d been smart, he would’ve run, in the hope that even if he’d been spotted, he’d have some level of deniability. But instead he spun around, hand out as if that would stop anything coming after him, would stop the tall form walking towards him, stepping into the moonlight.

“Is there a reason you’re in my office at this time of night?”

“Elias,” Jon said, words drying up in his mouth. Scrambling for an excuse when he had none. But then, did he need one? “Why are you still here?”

“I was working late. There have been a lot of repairs to oversee, so I had a cot put into the back room.” He gestured to the door he’d come through, one Jon hadn’t thought to check. “You understand the desire to keep a personal eye on things.”

Looking at Elias more closely, Jon noticed he’d abandoned his customary tailored suit, now dressed only in loose slacks and a soft pullover. An entirely incongruous sight, disturbing in how mundane it was. Of course Elias wouldn’t sleep in his suit. And given how rumpled his trousers were, it seemed likely he’d pulled them on in a rush. One brought about by an intruder in his office.

“I— Of course.” Jon swallowed hard around the fresh surge of guilt. Did Elias know he had the key? Maybe he could still get away with only a minor reprimand, apologising and leaving Elias to the rest he clearly needed. “I’m sorry, I just—“

“Needed to check the tunnels?” As he closed the gap between them, his face fell into darkness again, shadowing his expression. His tone remained calm, flat. Utterly inscrutable.

Damn it.

“Elias, I—“

Whatever desperate excuse he might’ve made was cut off by a hand on his shoulder, warm and solid. Not pushing Jon away, not punishing him. Just connecting. Reassuring. What was Elias doing?

“I understand,” Elias said, with more warmth than Jon expected. “It can be hard, leaving it to others. Letting secrets moulder under your feet. Especially when you know there must be more to find.”

His tone had taken on strange fervency, his eyes bright with some emotion that made Jon want to back away. That made him want to come closer. He did neither, simply stayed where he was, hovering on the threshold. Waiting for Elias to speak.

But he didn’t speak, simply watched Jon, as the clock ticked on in the background. Drawing Jon back to the night after Prentiss’s attack. The care Elias had shown him, hand on his, teasing out the knots of terror that had coiled in his chest. The ones that still remained, burrowed so deep they felt impossible to extract. Writhing under his skin, filling his lungs with brackish liquid, strands of it binding him in a trap he couldn’t see. 

Elias’s hand slid down Jon’s arm, fingers linking loosely around his wrist. Thumb pushing up under the edge of his sleeve, sweeping across the marked flesh. Warm and solid, and utterly unlike the worms. But still, it made Jon shiver. Then his hand slipped to Jon’s, weaving their fingers together for a moment. A binding Jon welcomed. A steady presence, holding each terror in check. And only then did Elias continue. 

“I won’t pretend that I don’t think this is reckless,” he said. “I’ve left the tunnels alone for good reason. But I trust you, Jon. You’ve done excellent work, and proven yourself exceptional during Prentiss’s attack.” His grip tightened, as if to hold Jon there, as if his gaze hadn't already pinned him in place. “And while I wish you’d recover more before you attempted this, well.” He smiled fondly. “I know you’re not a man suited to boredom. Despite what you may think, I was once much the same.”

It was hard to imagine Elias, with his schedules and meetings and forms that needed filling out, delving into tunnels, searching out the unknown. But he knew more about the supernatural than anyone else Jon had met. Perhaps he had more practical knowledge than Jon had thought. Maybe if he asked, Elias would tell him.

But for now he took a deep breath, and tugged his hand free. Whatever comfort Elias might offer, he couldn’t afford to take it. As much as he wanted to trust Elias...he needed answers. And he wouldn’t get them here. 

“What happened? The paperwork got you?” Jon said, managing to summon a faint smile, a sad attempt at a joke. Hoping Elias wouldn’t notice his sudden distance, or the way he found himself swaying closer even as he tried to pull away.

“Something like that.” Elias laughed, trailing off into an expression almost wistful. “I do hope you’ll inform me if you find anything interesting.” He held up a hand to stop Jon’s questions. “This isn’t a requirement. I certainly won’t be compensating you for any subterranean explorations, and it isn’t part of your job. A job I expect you to do, with the skill I’ve come to expect from you, when you do return. I simply hope that you might trust me enough to keep me informed.” Again, he laughed quietly. “And I’ll admit, I am rather curious to hear what you find.”

“I—I will.” Would he? Did he trust Elias? When the night had begun, he’d been sure he didn’t, that he couldn’t, no matter how much he’d wanted to cling to that old surety that Elias was always here, always ready with advice and a watchful eye. But Elias hadn’t stopped him, wasn’t forcing him away. Wasn’t hiding from him. It was enough to transform his former certainty into a wriggling knot of doubt. “I should go home. Get some rest.”

“Please do.” Elias smiled, his eyes still bright. “And Jon? I hope if anything truly bad happens, you’ll know you can always come to me.”

“Right. Thank you, Elias. Good night.” 

Jon passed over the threshold and walked down the corridor. He still wasn’t sure if he’d tell Elias anything. Still, it was...good. To know he had the option. Someone who might just see things his way.

And as he headed into the darkness, he found his hand flexing, fingers still caught in the lingering warmth of Elias’s grip. He shivered, and tried to tell himself it was only the cold.

Weeks of searching, following the circuitous routes, the shifting corridors, and all of it for nothing. Leaving him with only the cold certainty that his initial suspicions had been correct. There was no random thug, no bitter ex-employee, no maddened scholar of the dark and the strange who might have used the tunnels to attack. Which left only one option. He reached into his desk, hand finding his prize, but found himself still hesitating.

The Institute was quiet. Not a surprise, late as it was. But still, he stood. Better to give the Archives one final survey, checking between boxes of statements, peering into the shadows under desks. Listening, and to find nothing but silence. Only then did he return to his office, as sure as he could be he was alone. Taking his seat, and setting out the extra tape recorder to start his supplemental.

The words flowed out, the fear and frustration finally having an outlet, if an empty, uncaring one. But as he built steam, he found himself hesitating, his eyes lingering on the key sitting on his desk.

“Elias is a prime suspect, but…” He trailed off, even as the recording continued. Fingers curling around the key, he pulled it closer to examine it, as if the tarnished metal might hold the answers he so desperately needed. “I want to believe he isn’t, even now. Elias has always been helpful. Supportive, even. Perhaps too supportive?” He buried his face in his hands, mind shying away from too fond memory. “I just don’t know anymore. And that’s why more than ever, I need to find evidence. To keep looking. And to keep an open mind to all the possibilities. However unpleasant they might be.” 

The key he dropped back on the desk with a clang, before reaching out to stop the recording. Not what he’d been meaning to say but maybe...maybe it was enough, for now.

* * *

The knock came shortly after Jon had finished recording, startling him out of his musings, sending him scrambling to hide the second tape recorder. Wondering briefly who it could be before he remembered that the others had already gone home. He could hardly fault them for that, after everything. Tim and Sasha had been avoiding him completely, and even Martin had grown more distant after Jon had confronted him about the letters. Still checking in on Jon regularly, but no longer trying to include him in getting lunch. Where before, one of them might have volunteered to stay a bit longer, they now always seemed in a hurry to leave. 

Which left only one option.

“Come in?” he said, quickly glancing at the drawer to make sure it was properly closed.

Elias entered, and Jon felt his stomach lurch with guilt. Elias, whom Jon had been trying to avoid himself. Not until he’d watched the video tapes had he actually abandoned the idea that Elias might have been the murderer, that he might have wanted to kill him as well. The feeling of relief at proving his innocence had been brief, suffocated beneath shame and contrition. Even now, Jon could hardly bring himself to look at Elias. 

The last few times they had talked had been tense, as complaints about him had increased in both fervour and frequency. Culminating in an intervention, where Elias had raised the possibility of firing him in a hard tone that had taken him aback, had left him feeling like he’d swallowed pure ice, his stomach tightening around a point of cold that spread through his entire body. The memory of it plastering itself over the one of Elias comforting him after the attack, his gentle understanding that night in his office; a comfort, a fleeting tenderness he’d recalled in times of need, now buried beneath apprehension and disquiet, impossible to shake off. 

He leaned back in his chair when Elias took a seat, tension bubbling up inside him. Wariness. Fear that he might have come to fire him after all. Twinned with the sick certainty that given everything he'd done, he might deserve it. But that thought seemed incongruous with the relaxed expression on Elias’s face. 

“How are you doing, Jon?” he asked. The kind look in his eyes should have made Jon feel better, but instead, it made him absolutely miserable. It would have been easier if he’d been hard again. Dismissive. Offering a spot for the sharp tension coiling inside Jon to hook into and spiral, instead of simply tightening around his lungs.

“I’ve just finished recording a statement,” he said evasively, his voice quiet. He slid the file across the desk, and Elias picked it up, skipping to the notes. 

“Christopher Meyer? Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” He sounded pleasantly surprised. “I’ve read some of his books. James, my predecessor, was his contact at the institute before his promotion, and he strongly recommend his work to me. A fascinating read, really.”

“Just a bit dry,” Jon commented, and Elias chuckled. For a moment, it was almost enough to pierce through Jon’s guard, to ease the iron grip around his heart. 

“Yes, you could say that.” Elias turned his attention back to the file. “I had no idea that his sister left a statement.” He frowned. “Or that she tried to burn down the Institute, apparently. Before my time, of course, but it’s still concerning just how close she came to finishing the deed. I’m certainly glad you found this statement.” There was a second of silence as his last sentence hung in the air. “Where _did_ you find it?” 

“In here.” Jon indicated the box on his desk.

“1984. But this is a statement from the seventies, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, statement 9721207.” His skin was starting to prickle with dread, pushing everything else aside as the pieces started falling into place.

“And Gertrude filed it with the statements from when the attack nearly happened?” 

“Are you—” Jon hesitated, replaying the videos he’d seen of her odd comings and goings in his mind. Yet more proof of how little he knew about her, how wrong his first impression had been. “Are you saying that she might have been involved?”

Elias sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Jon. I certainly believed her to be a very capable archivist, but some of her actions on the tapes do seem rather… unusual. Truth be told, I don’t know what to think.” 

Jon quietly agreed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. Trying to get a hold of his racing thoughts, summoning the fragmented memories of his few interactions with Gertrude, the glimpses of her true personality he’d got from the tapes. He’d never even entertained the idea that Gertrude might have been involved in any schemes to destroy the Institute. Whatever it was, he was certain that it had to be connected to her death. Had an ally betrayed her? Or she them? Or perhaps… 

He firmly rejected that last thought. He couldn’t continue wasting time with baseless suspicions about his coworkers. Not when it had the potential to cost him so much, when it already might have cost him more than he could afford. The goodwill, the respect he’d built during the years he’d worked here. The tunnels, that was where his attention should be. He needed to find a red thread, and stop grasping at frayed ends. 

But that was for another time. For now, he found his attention drifting back to Elias. A pensive silence had spread between them. Once, it might’ve been comfortable. Perhaps still could be, if Jon managed to let go of the tension that had grown between them. To grasp at what they’d had before. So he studied the lines in Elias’s face as he read the statement from the beginning, watching them deepen on occasion. Sometimes, his eyes widened and his lips tightened minutely. Subtle changes, yet they made Jon feel as though he was reading the statement right alongside him. Experiencing Rosa Meyer’s horror at finding those bulging eyes fixated on her again. Jon shuddered. He must have made a noise, because Elias looked up just then.

“You didn’t answer my question before, Jon,” he said after a moment and set the statement aside. 

Jon swallowed, meeting Elias’s eyes. There was no anger, just a quiet concern, one that tugged on the worry that had choked Jon since their previous meeting. It was an answer he didn’t have the right to demand. But when had that stopped him before?

“Would you really fire me?” 

Elias’s expression shuttered, the dread twisting in Jon’s stomach as the silence hung between them. A silence Jon desperately tried to fill.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I understand, my behavior has been…” He struggled against the fear coiling tighter around his throat, fingers digging into the desk as he found his breath once more. “It’s been appalling. You’re only doing your job, trying to protect your other employees.” He laughed, and immediately regretted the hollow, rattling sound. “Protect them from me.”

Before he could say more, Elias’s hand covered his, gently stopping the movement of fingers he hadn’t realised he’d been drumming against the desk. When Jon dared to meet his eyes again, he found not pity, but the same gentle kindness Elias had shown him in the past. And waited for the inevitable. 

“Jon.” To Jon’s surprise, Elias seemed to struggle for words, closing his eyes briefly and sucking in a breath. “While your behaviour has been concerning, I fear I overreacted. My own relationship with you lead me to overcompensate. I thought my biases might be colouring my judgment, and I was harsher than needed in an attempt to mitigate that.” 

“Elias, I—” 

“I won’t say you did nothing wrong. That would be a lie. But I understand how my words might’ve hit harder than I anticipated. Hurt, in a way I didn’t intend.” He laughed ruefully. “I can be blunt. Cruel, some might say. But please understand, I spoke out of my own fear that my hand might be forced. I value you deeply. And I hope, whatever else happens, that you remember that.” 

He stood, hand lingering on Jon’s a moment longer, before finally pulling away. Jon drew his now cold hand into his lap, looking up to meet Elias’s eyes again. Seeing a gentle interest in them, one he was unable to turn away from, no matter how exposed he felt. As if Elias wasn’t just taking in the traces of exhaustion all over Jon’s face, but probing deeper instead. Jon wondered what Elias would find. And whether he would like it. Heat crept up his face, his lips unmoving even when he tried to speak. 

“You look tired,” Elias said finally, and Jon would have left out a hollow laugh at the understatement if he’d not been so relieved at the lifeline Elias was throwing him. The escape from emotions still churning in his chest, ones he couldn’t untangle, didn’t dare name. 

“I’ve not slept for… a while,” he confessed, though he hesitated to mention that it had been due to the tapes he’d watched and rewatched obsessively. “And now the statement and— It was just too much at once. I think it would be best if I lie down.” 

He rose, groaning quietly as his joints creaked, limbs stiff from sitting too long. Fatigue settled over him like a thin mist as tried to stand without holding onto the desk. 

“You need to get some proper rest, Jon,” Elias said. “Why don’t I give you a lift home, and you take the day off tomorrow?” 

Jon hesitated, different answers clashing in his mind. Reasons to accept, reasons to refuse. He ended up motioning towards the boxes. “There are still so many statements to go through—”

“Much as I appreciate your commitment, I don’t think anyone, least of all you, would benefit from fatigue-induced carelessness. You’ve earned a break.”

Jon considered the pile of statements in front of him. Turned back to Elias, who regarded him patiently, eyebrows drawn with concern. 

“Alright.” There was hardly a point in arguing, and Jon certainly hadn’t the energy for it. And when Elias acknowledged his decision with an appreciative nod, Jon couldn’t regret giving in. 

They’d agreed to meet in the carpark a couple of minutes later. The warm summer air was pleasant, a welcome relief after the stale dryness of the Archives below, but one that left him feeling exposed. Out in the open, in the dark, where he could rely neither on his eyes nor ears to warn him of any danger. The distant city noise enough to keep him on edge as he strained to pick up individual sounds. If only he could manage to draw some comfort from the thought that the threat was lurking down in the tunnels. 

In the end, it was Elias’s arrival that alleviated his fears. The indistinct noises faded into simple background murmur as the two of them made their way to the car, and for what felt like the first time in a while, he allowed himself to take a deep breath, to let the atmosphere soothe him. How long had it been since he’d had the chance to do that? 

The seats in Elias’s car were soft, the leather beneath his fingers still warm from the sun, inviting him to simply lean back and doze. Determined to fend off the drowsiness, Jon examined his surroundings instead. He hoped Elias didn’t know they weren’t quite as unfamiliar as they should be. He’d peered through the windows, a couple of weeks earlier. Just to be safe. But now as then, the car was devoid of clutter, lacking even decorations. He remembered the tiny cat doll dangling off Georgie’s rearview mirror, one of the first gifts he’d got her. He wondered if she still had it. 

Jon was happy to let Elias carry most of the conversation, but he listened with genuine interest as Elias relayed the contents of Meyer’s work to him. Accentuating the narration with such vivid detail that Jon could hardly believe he’d not finished reading it just the previous day. He hung onto Elias’s every word, drawn in by the enthusiasm for the topic he displayed. And whenever he glanced aside, he saw the smile on Elias’s lips, in his eyes. It was a welcome return to normalcy. A sign that maybe, after all, some things could still be fixed. A spark of hope he badly needed.

When Elias turned off the engine, Jon was surprised to find they’d already arrived. He thanked Elias while undoing his seatbelt, and bid him good night. But when Jon stepped out of the car, he realised how utterly drained he was. All the anxious tension had left his body in the past minutes, leaving behind a gentle warmth that did nothing to fend off the grip of sleep. He staggered towards the entrance on legs leaden with exhaustion, fumbling for his keys. A car door opened and closed behind him, and Jon turned around, about to assure Elias he could handle it. But the quick movement made the world around him spin and tilt, and before he knew it, Elias was steadying him with an arm around his waist, a hand at his shoulder. Bringing them so close that for a dizzying moment, Jon thought— But no, that was ridiculous. And after a few seconds, Elias let go of Jon’s shoulder, stepping to the side. Still supporting him.

“I—I don’t think this is necess—” 

“Let me see you to the front door, at least,” Elias said. “If you collapse on your sofa, so be it, but I’d rather you didn’t fall down the stairs and break your neck.” 

“There’s a lift,” Jon muttered. But he didn’t try to shake Elias’s arm off. It was nice, he had to admit—being able to rely on him. Elias’s grip tightened just slightly when necessary, but remained otherwise loose. Ready to catch him. And by the time they reached the lift, the awkward stiffness at their proximity had ebbed away. 

Soon, they would part ways again, the rhythmic sounds of the narrow lift counting down to their good-bye. But for now, Jon let his head rest on Elias’s shoulder, eyes lidding, his breathing slowing. He memorised the feeling of Elias’s fingertips pressing lightly into his side as Elias held him close.

* * *

Jon didn’t think. When he saw the blood, the still body of the man who’d so long stalked through his dreams, he ran. Up the stairs, relieved to find the Institute deserted. No one to ask him what he was doing. No one to stop him until he’d reached the only place he could go.

Elias’s office.

His hand slipped on the knob, and for a moment he feared it was locked, or worse, the wrong door entirely, Michael’s laughter echoing in his ears. But when he gripped it again, it turned easily. The door opened without a sound, and Jon quickly shut it behind him, locking it and turning to survey the office. Just in time to see Elias coming out of the back room, looking not at all surprised to see Jon here.

Words welled up on his tongue, only to bleed out soundlessly as Elias strode across the room, wrapping his hands around Jon’s biceps. Not in censure, or anger. Steadying him, keeping him in place while Elias studied him. His expression remained solemn, grave even. Did he know? But how could he, when there were no cameras in the Archives? And if he’d been down there, then surely he’d have already called the police.

Elias lifted one of his hands to Jon’s neck, fingers brushing the pulse point, and it was only then that Jon realised his heart was still pounding, as he shivered with terror and relief. Still not knowing what to do, but knowing that Elias would. That he always knew, guiding Jon, catching him when he fell. So he took a shaky breath and leaned into the touch. Enjoying the steadying warmth, a beacon in the chaos that surrounded him. A comfort he found himself longing for more and more.

Then he noticed the flecks of red on the pale grey sleeve.

“Jon. Tell me what happened.”

Desperately, he tried to swallow the horror the small stains implied. Another explanation, there must be; he’d been too hasty in his judgement before. Paralysed and silent, he did nothing as Elias’s hand rose to his cheek, stroking gently through his hair. What did it mean, that Elias gave this to him? That he sought it out, aching for the comfort of it, pressing his face against Elias’s palm. The answer trembled on his lips. But it was drowned out by the static of the question he needed to ask, that even now he didn’t want to know.

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

Elias’s hand stilled in his hair. Jon marked the steady rise and fall of his chest, how calm he was even now. It’d been comforting, once. Minutes ago, it’d been all he wanted. And yet it seemed eons past, in a lifetime when Jon hadn’t known the horrible truth. When he’d searched for answers he was finding he didn’t want, answers he still needed.

“And Gertrude as well. Elias—” He said you were a monster. That what we do is evil. Jon shuddered, wanting to close his eyes but unable to tear himself away from Elias’s penetrating gaze. Looking for something, anything of the familiar affection, the keen insight, the Elias he’d grown fonder of than he’d ever have cared to admit. Just a flicker of it in the twisting dark. “Why?”

“He would’ve destroyed you.” Even now, Elias’s expression didn’t falter, his hand beginning to move again, rubbing circles into the base of Jon’s skull. “I acted—rashly. Impulsively. I knew someone was down there, but Leitner was a surprise.”

“Do you normally murder surprises?” Jon’s voice cracked, betrayal clawing at his chest, leaving sharp lines of pain in its wake.

“No. Only ones that threaten what’s important to me.”

The hand on Jon’s bicep tightened briefly before relaxing, and a sick part of Jon was still pleased at the obvious affection. The clock ticked on as he struggled for what to ask, what to do, finally hauling forth the only challenge he could muster.

“What did Gertrude threaten?”

“The Archives. The Institute, and everything we’ve built here. The people. Including you, Jon. You remember Rosa Meyer’s statement?”

The woman who’d been watched, who’d later gone mad. Or perhaps had been far too sane. “Yes. What does that—” He frowned, remembering their conversation after. “It was misfiled. You can’t think…”

Elias spread his hand to cradle Jon’s head. “I don’t know what Gertrude might’ve been plotting then. But surely you can see the signs. She was a zealot, unafraid to harm anyone in her path, for her own self-righteous goals.”

His face was cast in stark relief by the harsh moonlight. He believed what he was saying, or at least Jon thought he did. But then he wasn’t proving the best judge of character, was he?

“Then why didn’t you go to the police? If you had proof—”

“She was far too careful for that. And the police…well, they don’t tend to like investigating here.”

Section 31. Of course. But then, Jon had never considered the extent of it before. That it might be more than simply the secrets they held that made the law avoid them. Or that the secrets might be more than forbidden knowledge, studied and catalogued, maybe even helping on rare occasions. What had Leitner said? Mechanical eyes, in his place of power.

“He was right, then. The Institute, it’s evil. Serving some sort of—of god, some terrible Eye.” That you’re evil, not just a murderer, but something far worse than that. That I might be something far worse as well.

“Evil? I wouldn’t think you’d jump to such simplistic moralisations. Tell me, was Leitner evil?”

Hubris had been Leitner’s overriding sin, but hubris could carry a man far. A library of murderous books, his willingness to sacrifice his assistants. His willingness to destroy the Archives, with no indication he cared about the consequences. Only his word that he’d meant to do good. Jon had long thought he was evil, and yet.

“I don’t know.”

“Then perhaps if you can overlook Leitner’s sins, you can give me a chance.”

Jon laughed bitterly. “I really doubt you can come up with an explanation for this.”

“I don’t intend to. Not now, at least.”

“So that’s it? You just expect me to let you go, to forget about it, without any real answers at all?”

“No. I expect you to remember. To pursue every facet of it, to dig into depths you dare not discover, all while knowing that you desperately desire to reveal their secrets.” Again, his grip tightened on Jon’s arm, not painful, but present in a way Jon couldn’t ignore. Just as he couldn’t ignore how close Elias had gotten, so that Jon could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across his skin. When Jon tried to ask him what the hell he meant, Elias put a finger against his lips, Jon’s tongue brushing it and tasting a faint hint of ink, before he stopped, and waited for Elias to continue. “Someday, Jon, I’ll answer any question you want.”

“And you’ll actually answer?” Jon said, hating how breathless he sounded, how he didn’t pull away.

“Yes. How could I not?” Elias laughed quietly, the sound fading as the clock ticked on in the background. The steady clicks seeming thunderous as Elias continued to stare at him, his eyes considering, almost calculating, underlaid with a marked longing Jon could no longer deny. Not when he tilted up Jon’s chin, his face coming close enough that Jon couldn’t see, didn’t realise until it was happening that Elias intended to kiss him.

It was only a brief contact, a brush of lips, warm and soft, the woody scent of Elias’s cologne filling his nose before he withdrew, giving Jon a sad smile. All Jon could do was stare as Elias stepped away, leaving Jon with the door as his only support.

“I’d apologise, but I don’t regret it in the least. Whatever else happens, whatever you decide, I hope you understand that my affection is sincere.”

The faint sound of sirens drifted through the window, and Jon tensed, remembering again why he was here.

“You need to go. Not forever,” Elias said, holding up a hand to silence Jon. “Just long enough to smooth things over with the police. As much as I wish I could offer you sanctuary, I’ll be a prime suspect when they look for you. Not only as your boss, but as someone who has, perhaps, grown closer to you than many might expect.”

“Elias, I—” His voice was rough, his already shattered composure scattered to the winds. “Why?”

“Someday, I think you’ll understand. But for now, you need to go. I’ll be in contact. Take care, Jon.”

What else was there left to do, but run?

It was only a few days later that he received the parcel. A thick envelope, containing a statement, with a note in a familiar hand paperclipped to it, though the paper was a lower quality than Jon had come to expect.

_I’m watching out for you. Please be patient. When the time comes, you’ll see it._

No signature, but it didn’t need one, and Jon could hardly fault the caution. Could hardly fault anything, it seemed. His fingers curled, crumpling the paper. He’d gone to Elias looking for help, and instead he’d found out that Elias was at the root of all his problems. The damage should have been irreparable, a gash torn open between them that could never heal. So why did it feel instead like he’d managed to peel away a layer that had been separating them?

Unbidden, his fingers went to his lips. Before, he’d thought it ridiculous. That Elias would, that he might— But no, he couldn’t think like this. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to forget the way Elias had looked at him. The way he’d been looking for a long time. A manipulation, a sham, it had to be. And even if it wasn’t, did it matter? Whatever his reasons, Elias was a murderer. Someone Jon shouldn’t, couldn’t—

“Damn him.”

He sighed, letting his hands drop into his lap and smoothing out the note. Lingering over the looping letters, before tucking it carefully into his pocket and tearing open the envelope to reveal the statement inside. For now, he’d do as Elias said. And later—

If Elias didn’t give him the answers he needed, he’d find them himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon touched the jagged slash across his neck, and tried to ignore the trembling in his hands. Hoping that Daisy didn’t see it either, from where she walked behind him, the weakness she might take as guilt. Or as just another sign he was easy prey. But no, Basira would keep her in check. At least long enough for him to tread a path that felt as inevitable now as it had the night of Leitner’s death. He was going back to the Institute.

Going back to Elias.

At that thought, he stumbled, only to be brutally hauled to his feet by a growling Daisy, who was quieted in turn with a look from Basira. It was no wonder he was scared, was it? Stressed, nearly panicking, given where his quest for answers had taken him. Right into the hands of the murderous avatars of eldritch gods, or powers, or whatever the called the things they served. The thing he served, that Elias served. His hands clenched and unclenched pointlessly at his side, as he tried not to consider the implications. That Elias had sent him the statements with the intent Jon face these foes. That he’d known Jon might die. Maybe even welcomed it. Or that he hoped for something far worse.

Instead of the anger Jon craved, all he felt was despair. The same bitterness that had loosened his tongue, when his panicked excuses had made Daisy look for another target, made her find one in Elias. When she’d said his name, Jon felt his terror receding, leaving behind only a hard lump of dread. He hadn’t given her the name. But he didn’t deny it either. How could he, when she’d pointed right to the party whose guilt was certain, in deed if not intent? And why should he protect Elias? Murder was murder. What other way back was there, than to confront that head on. To confront him. If anything, it would only make it worse for both of them, to refuse Basira’s request. If he was innocent, if Elias was innocent, then why should he fear to ask? Fear to hear the truth, for once, from Elias’s lips.

But still, he hadn’t wanted it to be like this. 

“Move it, Sims,” Daisy hissed, and Jon hastened his steps.

No, he couldn’t think of it that way. Their plan was better, he tried to tell himself. Elias had lied to him first. Had betrayed him first. He was a _murderer_. And in prison—

He glanced at the gun in Daisy’s holster, barely concealed under her jacket. She had shot Mike so easily, unflinching. The image of his dead body had burned itself into Jon’s retinas. Lying on the floor, still the fake pleasant smile on his lips as the blood spread beneath his head. And later, his body pale and still, slowly disappearing under heaps of dirt, in the grave that had been intended for Jon as well. If Basira hadn’t interfered, hadn’t convinced her that Elias was the man she was looking for instead, while Jon had gasped around the truth stuck in his throat… 

Jon swallowed hard. In prison, Elias would be safe.

The door closed behind the others, and Jon sank down onto the chair, trying to process what he’d just witnessed. But his mind struggled to grasp any thought, emotions welling up and ebbing away. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. How could they have assumed they’d be able to catch him unaware? He should have known that it would be futile. Should have confronted Elias alone, and earlier. Now Basira was trapped, just like the rest of them. And Daisy along with her. 

“Why did you do that?” he finally asked. Compelled. It felt so natural to him now, to let that power flow out, and where before Elias had simply pressed his lips together firmly, otherwise unfazed, he now let out a shuddering breath. Jon shivered in response as Elias allowed the power to flow through him uninhibited, not bracing himself for it as he’d done before, signalling Jon his permission. 

“It was necessary,” he said, stashing away the contract Basira had signed and retrieving a first-aid kit. “To protect the Institute. And you.”

“Oh, please,” Jon scoffed, the anger he’d longed for before finally rising inside him. “You did it because it was easier for you that way. How can you possibly justify trapping her here?” 

“That’s an interesting choice of words. Do you consider yourself trapped, Jon?” Elias leaned back in his chair, observing Jon carefully.

“I… I can’t quit,” he said, the question weighing way too heavy on him to be brushed aside with the flippant assent he’d planned. Not that he’d ever tried quitting, genuinely tried, but he assumed so, even when he’d been terrified at the prospect of being fired. Perhaps now would be the time to try. Except…

“That’s not an answer, Jon.” His eyes were fixed on Jon, boring into him, and if Jon didn’t know any better, he would’ve said Elias might have been trying to compel him. Would he have been able to? He was almost curious enough to ask, but no. Now wasn’t the time.

“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Jon replied stubbornly. “It’s really about you, isn’t it? You say you did this to protect me, but for weeks, you let the police think I was a murderer. I had to hide while your life continued as normal. How does that help anyone but you?”

“Is that what you believe?”

Jon looked at him. He’d not changed in the slightest in the past weeks. No signs of stress eating at him, while Jon hardly recognised himself in the mirror, the haunted look in his eyes, his unshaven cheeks hollow. 

"What reason do I have to believe anything else? You’re the same as ever. Unruffled and unchangeable.” He shifted in his seat, glaring across the desk at Elias. “Hands off management, wasn't that what you said when you made me Head Archivist? That you like to give your employees the freedom to succeed. A good way to keep your hands clean, isn't it? At least, mostly clean.”

“If you thought my motivations were selfish, why not turn me in sooner? I know you were in contact with Melanie. Even if you didn’t go to the police yourself, you could have easily found a way. Instead, you waited until your hand was forced.” 

“Because I…” The sentence hovered in the air as seconds ticked by. There were many reasons. There was one that truly mattered.

“You trusted me.” It was the answer that had been on the tip of Jon’s tongue, that he’d fought back to contain. Drawn out so effortlessly by Elias. Spoken in a gentle tone bereft of the harshness Jon had intended. 

“What an idiot I am,” he muttered, feeling his eyes sting. He looked to the side, trying to draw a breath into his constricted lungs. Refusing to shed even one tear. 

Elias sighed and leaned forward again, resting his arms on the desk. “Is it idiocy to wait and see before you act? It was simply a choice you made. One of the many you’ve made throughout your life that eventually led you here.”

“Then I suppose I’ve chosen wrong.” But in the back of his mind, Elias’s words were starting to take root. He could have avoided all this. Avoided dragging everyone else in as well. Or had he always been headed right where he was now? Had he wanted it? Did he still want it? He tried to brush it off. Elias was trying to confuse him. But there was one thing he didn’t understand. 

“Why didn’t you tell them? That I already knew.” It would have been an apt retribution for betrayal, wouldn’t it? To show the others just how little Jon could be trusted. Knowing, all along, and not saying a thing. At best a fool, and at worst, an accomplice. 

“You already know why, Jon,” Elias said softly, like a rope of silk winding itself around Jon’s neck. “To protect you.”

“You keep saying that!” Jon burst out, jumping to his feet. He hissed at the sharp pain on his neck, his hand snapping up reflexively. When he removed it, it came away bloody, red stains mingling with gravedirt in a sickening reminder of what could have been. Jon let himself drop back down helplessly, tension draining all at once.

“I needed your help,” he said tonelessly. “I needed to understand what was happening to me, and you just had me chase after people who nearly killed me. I—I needed you.”

Elias didn’t answer. Instead, he retrieved a disinfectant wipe and rounded the desk, coming to a halt in front of Jon. Without asking, he put a finger underneath Jon’s chin, tipping it up slightly. And Jon… let him, tilting his head back on command to let Elias inspect him. He sucked in a breath when Elias began to clean the shallow gash Daisy had left on his throat. 

“Sometimes, the best way to protect something is to make it stronger,” Elias said quietly. 

“What does that even mean?” Jon asked. The compulsion was weak, but Elias’s hand stilled nevertheless. 

“Everything, no matter how precious, is bound to break eventually. I can’t let that happen to you, Jon. So I intend to remake you in diamond. Keen, and as close to unbreakable as any mortal man can get.” 

“All you did was turn me into—into a monster.” His stomach churned at the thought. If that was the case, perhaps Gertrude had been right in trying to burn the place down. “Am I a monster, Elias?” 

“What is a monster, anyway,” Elias said, dabbing gently at the wound. “You can bleed and die. And you still have the freedom to choose and grow. Do you think I’m a monster, Jon?”

Jon looked at him. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to find traces of dreadful powers leaking through the pores of his skin, seeping into his clothes. But instead, all he saw were the familiar lines on Elias’s forehead, deepened in concentration as he wrapped gauze around Jon’s neck. The pale eyes that had regarded him with fondness and interest in the past, now focused on him intently. 

“Does it matter what I think?” he muttered instead, feeling his throat move against Elias’s fingers. 

“It matters to me,” Elias said. “I, too, can still bleed and die. And it doesn’t mean I can’t experience emotions, either. I can feel remorse. Sadness. Affection.” His fingers slid up to Jon’s lips, lingering, before Jon abruptly turned his head away and let out a hollow laugh.

“And why should I believe you?” 

“Because now nobody can ever lie to you again,” Elias said, his voice taking on an unfamiliar, breathless quality that shivered through Jon’s entire body, curled hot inside him. “This is something you’ve accomplished all on your own. And I am so proud of you.”

“Stop this,” Jon said, feeling his ribcage constrict so tightly he could hardly breathe. “Don’t say things you don’t—”

“Jon. Look at me.” Elias’s voice was firm but calm, and Jon obeyed. When had Elias gotten so close? Jon could nearly see his own reflection in his eyes. His breathing slowed again, his chest rising and falling gently, before nervousness caught up to him again.

“What are you doing to me?” he panted, still caught in his gaze, still unable to look away. Elias moaned quietly against Jon’s lips, let them brush against his with the movement, and then Jon could feel it, sparking up from deep within his chest, a pleasant tingling that spread all the way to his fingertips. He had to force himself not to clutch at Elias, overcome with the sudden desire to get closer, to deepen that connection between them; this burning need to know Elias, in a way he’d never known another person. In a way that only Elias would allow him to. Jon’s fingers dug into the armrests.

“You may not understand yet why I acted the way I did today. And that is fine. It’s a sacrifice I’m ready to make. But there is one thing I hope you do understand, and that is that I’ve never lied to you about the things I feel.” 

Jon wished he’d lied. It would have made things easier. It would have made it easier to storm out, instead of remaining in his seat as Elias ran gentle fingers across the side of his neck, just the lightest pressure as if to check the bandage, and Jon took small breaths through his nose to avoid making any noise. To not have to answer, either.

Elias’s hand settled on his shoulder. “Let me see your hand, Jon.” 

Reluctantly, Jon lifted his burned hand. Poorly wrapped, stained with earth and speckled with blood. Elias made a disapproving noise and started to remove the bandage. Jon gasped as the cool air hit the still tender skin, but it hurt less than he would’ve expected. 

“This has healed quite nicely, hasn’t it,” Elias murmured with clear appreciation, an implication carried in his words that Jon was afraid to consider. He focused on Elias’s hands as he worked, so quickly and diligently, without any hesitation. And soon enough, Jon’s hand was wrapped again in clean gauze. Elias took Jon’s forearm and raised it slightly to inspect his work. His fingers were warm now, and still, the touch raised gooseflesh across Jon’s skin. 

“That’s better, don’t you think?”

Jon simply nodded in response. Elias smiled and leaned down to kiss him. They’d only kissed once before, but the brush of lips was so familiar it ached.

Before leaving the office, Jon popped up the collar of Georgie’s coat, hid his hand in the pocket. He hoped he could also hide the guilt that gnawed at him when he saw Martin waiting outside, carrying a first-aid kit of his own. Waiting for Jon, when all Jon wanted was to retreat back to the comfort of Elias’s office, and the comfort of his arms.

* * *

The problem with the tube was that it gave Jon time to think. And not just think, but fret, gouging the lines deeper into his face, twisting it into the expression that made Martin offer tea, and Elias offer more time off. An offer Jon had firmly rebuffed, while trying not to think too hard about why the idea turned his stomach. But no, it was nothing. He needed to be at the Institute. Needed to focus, to plan. 

However unpleasant it might be. 

Thinking lead to indecision. And he knew he’d be paralyzed, knew he wouldn’t act, unless he did something before he forgot the feeling of slick plastic hands on his skin. So he pulled out his mobile, eyes straight ahead as he tapped out the message. _Meet me in the tunnels?_ Looking down only once to confirm the contact, before hitting send. Would it be enough to stop Elias from seeing? Would anything? But he couldn’t watch all the time, and even if he did…

Jon’s hand tightened around the mobile, then he slipped it back into his pocket. He couldn’t think like that anymore. Maybe it wasn’t paranoid, but he had to try. They had to try. 

The rest of the ride passed in a blur, as did the walk back to his flat. Every anxious thought that burbled to the surface he brutally shoved aside, mind fixed only on reaching his door, on his bed, on the hopeful release of a dreamless sleep. When he finally made it to his door, he didn’t even look up, just headed into his dark living room after locking the door behind him. 

He realized his mistake when he noticed the figure on the sofa. It was still, as still as Jon was, frozen just inside. Still didn’t mean that it would stay that way. Late as it was, only the weak light of a street lamp filtered through the curtains, leaving the shapes seen but not known. Was that even his sofa? Or would it coalesce into the twisted forms of more bodies, weaving together unnaturally to form a parody of furniture, another one aping a person upon it. His hand tightened around the knob, heart beating wildly as he strained for sounds of breathing. But could it fake that as well? Forming lungs to more fully conform to a facsimile of humanity.

If he ran, he might escape. Leaving behind the mystery of what lay before him. Slowly, his hand slipped from the knob, drifting to the light switch. It wouldn’t save him. But at least he’d know.

Light flooded the room, and before he could truly comprehend the scene before him, the figure on the sofa lifted a hand in greeting. A very familiar hand, as Jon’s panic began to turn to relief, followed by a different kind of terror.

“Elias,” Jon said, clutching his bag of groceries close, a flimsy barrier but a barrier all the same. “How did you get in? Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.” He stood, crowding Jon against the door as the bag slipped from Jon’s fingers. Cupping Jon’s cheek tenderly, before sliding the hand to the back of his head. Just staring down at him for a moment, drinking in something Jon could almost feel but couldn’t name, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. 

Jon’s hand rose on instinct to Elias’s face, intending to push him away. But instead he lingered there, savouring the feeling. Not the waxy, plasticine skin he’d become all too familiar with, but the warm, rough cheek of a man who’d gone without shaving a bit too long. A man who made a sound that was achingly familiar as he pulled back, both of his own hands now tenderly cradling Jon’s head. 

“You saw me this morning.” An automatic response, as Jon struggled to understand, and struggled against the same understanding. Elias didn’t mean it like that. “And can’t you always see me?” 

“Not yet,” Elias said. 

One of his hands slid into Jon’s hair, rubbing gentle circles into his scalp. Jon found himself leaning into the touch, leaning forward, letting his weight rest against the solid warmth of Elias’s chest. 

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. 

Bile rose in his throat as he realized what he’d done, how easily he’d given in. He clenched his teeth against it, slowly extracting himself from Elias’s grip. The distance cast Elias in harsh relief. Elias, with bags under his eyes, a day’s stubble, in a well-fitted jumper and trousers rather than his usual pressed suit. It was as though he'd discarded his severe demeanour along with it, left both at the Institute, where Jon hadn't even noticed Elias's exhaustion. Or perhaps in his anger, Jon had been all too willing to overlook it, even when Elias had been admitting his fallibility. Or else, hiding his culpability. 

Another wave of sickness crested over him at that thought. He struggled against it, the guilt and betrayal. Pushed it aside as he gathered the canvas bag he’d dropped, turning his back on Elias and heading into the kitchen. 

Despite his clear dismissal, Elias followed regardless, giving Jon a welcome flare of anger. It was a balm, and a shield. A way to keep Elias at arm’s length, to remind him of what Elias really was, and what he really wanted. 

“I think it’s best you leave,” Jon said, backing against the counter to keep as far from Elias as possible in the cramped kitchen.

As was typical, Elias ignored him, instead stepping closer. Not touching this time. Which was good, of course. He didn’t want a damn thing from Elias except for what he needed in order to do his job. And Elias could barely provide that most days.

Jon squared his shoulders, and turned to the counter, trying to pretend he couldn’t feel Elias at his back. His eyes remained locked on the bag of groceries, setting each item onto the counter. Cup noodles, frozen meals, a few cans of beans. Coffee and tea, more of the former than the latter. He expected he’d need the caffeine now more than ever. All the while every nerve in his body remained intimately aware of Elias, the rise and fall of his chest, the small shifts in posture, the rustling of his clothing. The heat of his breath on Jon’s neck, making his skin prickle.

And Christ, he’d never admit it. But Jon counted each rise and fall of his breath, the small shifts that were utterly human. Natural, and warm, and not strange at all. Maybe Elias was a monster. But blood flowed through his veins, and air filled his lungs. There was no artifice to the way he shifted, beyond simple discomfort. And he smelled human, cologne covering a faint hint of sweat. Despite what Elias had done, what he’d failed to do, tension began to drain from Jon’s shoulders. Until finally, he sighed, turning to find Elias closer than expected.

His expression was intent, but otherwise unreadable. Not amused, not worried, not angry. Simply studying Jon, while Jon studied him in turn. Noting again the dark circles, the slight furrow in his brow. How his hair seemed to have departed from its normal order, a lock falling across his brow. And even with all that, how bright his eyes remained.

“Do you really enjoy watching me that much?” Jon said, his eyes locking with Elias’s briefly, almost caught, until he fixed them instead on the window behind Elias’s head.

“Yes. I haven’t been able to for far too long,” Elias said, his voice surprisingly rough.

Jon flushed, though still Elias kept that small measure of distance between them. Was it to rile him up? To draw a snapped response from his lips? Or could it be genuine courtesy, knowing something of what Jon had faced, how he’d reacted before? Waiting for Jon to ask for what he wanted, if it was in his power to give.

“So you weren’t lying, then? You really didn’t know where I was.” He still remembered Nikola’s taunts, her stolen voice cutting through the air like the rope had cut into his skin; she’d clearly believed Elias was no threat. As the days had dragged on, he’d assumed she had to be wrong. Maybe not lying, but Elias had to be able to find him. If he chose not to look, not to interfere, what could it be but some sort of test? Or perhaps that he’d just grown tired of Jon. Dealt with him, like he’d dealt with Gertrude.

“I’m sorry, Jon. Truly.”

He raised a hand briefly, before letting it fall. Still waiting, for some sign Jon wasn’t sure he wanted to give. The apology sounded genuine. Just as what he’d said before, when forced to admit his lies, had rung true. It would be easier to believe it was all a sham, a facsimile of emotion as imperfect as the bodies of the Stranger’s creatures. He swallowed, gaze locked on a couple getting out of a car, one kissing the other goodbye. What a simple life that was. To not know, to think that was all there was.

“Well, then. Fine. Apology accepted. Now you can go.” His hand went to his pocket, where his phone buzzed again. He shuffled past Elias, ducking into the hallway and locking himself into the small bathroom before pulling it out. 

_When?_ The first message, followed by, _Don’t we have to worry about Bouchard?_

His thumb hovered over the letters, trying desperately to think of what he’d meant to say. Only to be startled by a knock on the door.

“Jon?” 

He cursed under his breath. Of course Elias hadn’t left. Never doing what Jon wanted, always causing more problems that only he could solve. He flushed the toilet, and reached for the water, hoping Elias had given him at least a little privacy, that he hadn’t seen the messages. When he opened the door, Elias was waiting, face solemn as he regarded Jon curiously. 

“What do you want from me?” He pressed back against the wall, hands flat on the surface, fixing his sights on the peeling paint above Elias’s head.

“Jon,” Elias said. Fondly, too fondly. Finally, he touched Jon again, one finger under his chin, tipping his head up until Jon met Elias’s eyes and shuddered at what he found there. “I told you. I wanted to see you. To see how you’re feeling.”

“How I’m feeling?” Jon laughed bitterly. “I was kidnapped. For a _month._ How do you think I’m feeling?”

For a moment, Elias was silent, the only sound cutting through that of the car driving away. Then he leaned closer, and Jon’s lips parted, his breath coming fast and harsh.

“I think you’re afraid.”

Their lips met, Jon gasping, hand going to Elias’s chest, trying to keep him at a distance. Elias’s arm circled Jon’s waist, tugging him closer still, until their bodies were flush. And Elias was warm, and perhaps not human but at least something Jon recognised, each touch along the base of Jon’s neck, the curve of his ear, the press of the tongue into his mouth achingly familiar in a way they had no right to be. His face rough against the unnatural smoothness of Jon’s skin, coarse and real, in a way Jon desperately needed. It drove him forward, both hands now dragging on Elias’s shirt, pulling him in, needing to know, to feel, to see, to understand that Jon was far more precious that he had any right to be, and still he had so far to go. The thought twisted oddly in Jon’s mind, a dark clarity as he realised it was not his own, and Elias—

Pulled back with an audible gasp, eyes wild with delight and surprise. And for a brief moment, terror. Jon had been the cause of that, and for a moment he swayed closer, reaching out before he realized that this was Elias, a murderer, a monster, who’d lied to Jon, who’d used him. Who’d failed, when Jon had needed him the most.

Who’d been there, when Jon had needed him the most.

He turned his back on Elias, intent on doing...what? Hiding in his own bathroom? Running around his apartment, while Elias followed him, knowing Jon would never really force him out. His hand went to the handle of the bathroom door, staring down at it, at a dent in the cheap metal. A scar, from a plan imperfectly executed.

“Jon. I won’t lie to you.”

Jon snorted. “That’d be a first.”

“I never lied to you. I simply didn’t tell you the whole truth. You weren’t ready. You still aren’t.” Elias stepped closer, the heat of his body warm against Jon’s back, the ghost of his fingers brushing Jon’s neck. “So I won’t bother with platitudes neither of us believe. Instead, I’ll repeat what I told you before. Whatever else happens, I do care for you. And I will be there for you, when I can. I hope that will be enough, and that someday, you’ll understand.”

“And what if I don’t understand?” Jon didn’t turn around. Couldn’t bear to look Elias in the eye, his phone still a heavy weight in his pocket. 

“Then hope will have made a fool of me. Take care, Jon.” 

Jon listened to the sound of his steps, the door opening and shutting behind him. Leaving Jon where he’d started, terrified and alone. Wishing he’d asked Elias to stay. Wishing he’d made him leave sooner. When he finally reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and sagging to the floor, he found his hands were shaking. 

Again, he stared at the words. The answer should be easy. He knew Elias’s schedule well. Too well. It was almost a surprise the others hadn’t noticed, that they didn’t suspect. His fingers rose to his lips, before he balled them into a furious fist. Whatever Elias said, his plans were evil. They had to be. And they’d get Jon killed, get them all killed. So with trembling fingers, he finally typed out the reply he should’ve given before.

_Wednesday afternoon. Don’t worry about Elias._

He hit send, and immediately wished he could take it back. Had it been too familiar, to use his name? But no, the others did as well. Daisy would assume it was habit, nothing more. He took a deep breath, and smelled the lingering scent of Elias’s cologne. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled back into the bathroom, tearing off his clothes, stuffing them into the basket before staggering into the shower, and letting the water wash all reminders of Elias away. Removing the traces of his guilt before he could identify its source. It was Elias’s fault, putting him in this situation. Elias’s fault, that he felt conflicted at all. 

Only when his skin was scorched and scoured clean did he finally turn the water off, leaving his clothes where they’d fallen. Stumbling the final steps to his bed, where he knew his sleep wouldn’t be dreamless. Tired as he was, he found himself restless, pulling the duvet tighter as he tossed and turned. Yearning for the weight of eyes on his neck, a comfort and a burden that Jon should not have missed.

* * *

It must have been past midnight, and Jon didn’t know if he’d managed any sleep so far. Probably not; he couldn’t remember any dreams. None of the dread that came with them, but also none of the… relief. Instead, he simply lingered at the edges of sleep, as he’d done the past couple of nights. It had been easy to blame jet lag at first, the mundane stress of travelling, of trying to stick to an itinerary that didn’t allow for much delay. But at this point, he was convinced it ran deeper than that. He was too weak to even toss and turn; all he could do was listen to the hum of the fridge close-by, only realising his eyes were half-open when headlights passed by his window, dipping the room in dim light filtered through flimsy curtains. Maybe soon, the sun would rise, finally giving him a reason to get out of bed after yet another restless night.

The knock at the door shattered any illusion of sleep. Jon rolled over, facing the entrance, hands gripping the blanket as another knock resounded, just as loud as the pulse hammering in Jon’s ears. It might be the officer that’d been following him. Or maybe it was a mistake, someone trying to join their family or friends, who’d just forgotten the key.

Another knock forced Jon into action. His hands shook as he reached for the tape recorder on the nightstand; maybe he’d be able to use it as a weapon if it came down to it. Reflexively, he turned it on. The familiar whirring calmed him, just a bit. Like that, he inched closer to the door. The knocking had stopped. Perhaps whoever it’d been had left. 

He peered through the peephole. Elias. It almost wasn’t a surprise, not really. How often did he think himself alone, only to turn and find Elias there? Waiting with secrets he didn’t want and warmth he couldn’t allow himself to need. Elias would quite deserve to be left standing outside, and there was a petty satisfaction in imagining leaving him waiting without any answer, for once. But then again, if Jon was actually being pursued, whoever it was would probably come after Elias too. 

He unlocked the door. Elias strode inside, shutting the door behind himself firmly. 

“What are you—” Elias placed a finger on Jon’s lips, shaking his head lightly. Staring ahead but somehow… not looking at him. Jon didn’t move a muscle, his pulse racing ever faster, lips quivering against the gentle touch. After a few seconds, Elias’s eyes refocused. He let his hand slide down to Jon’s shoulder before setting down his briefcase and turning on the light.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked, taking hold of Elias’s arm. Just to steady himself. The adrenaline was ebbing away, leaving room for bone-deep exhaustion to return. 

“I had some business to attend to at the Usher Foundation, and I noticed you’ve found yourself in a bit of a predicament,” Elias replied, bridging the remaining distance between them, his free hand going to Jon’s waist. A shiver ran down his spine, more pleasant than he cared to admit. 

“Yes, thank you, I know I’m being followed,” Jon said, but it lacked the intended bite, breathless as his voice was. “Is… is that why you’re here?”

“Not primarily.” The barely realised hope that had started blooming in Jon’s chest withered, and it stung all the more sharply for how small it had been. He took a step back, leaning against the cold wall for support.

“Well?” he snapped. “Why are you here, then?” 

“I have a task for you,” Elias said. Utterly unbothered by his tone in a way that only stoked Jon’s frustration. “I need you to let the hunters initiate contact—” 

“Wait, hunters? There’s more than one? I—I thought it was just that one police officer.” 

Elias blinked, a rare moment of being caught off-guard that Jon secretly relished. Then, after a few seconds, he smiled. “I see. Observant as usual, of course. I’ve always liked that.” Jon refused to be mollified, swallowing down the satisfaction he felt. “But no, I’m not talking about Nikola’s puppet. You just need to learn to cast your net a little wider.” 

Jon huffed in indignation. Elias had hardly cast his net wide enough either if he’d missed the officer. Though perhaps that was the nature of the Stranger. Its agents making themselves visible only to strike fear. 

“So, what does your _task_ entail?” 

“They have something you that might be of interest to you,” Elias replied casually.

“And what is it?” Jon put some force into the question, enough to make his own head spin. Elias remained silent, and Jon didn’t have the strength to pull harder.

“Well, I suppose I should be grateful, then, that you took some time out of your busy schedule for this entirely pointless meeting,” he snarled. He pushed himself off the wall and swayed on his feet, anger and exhaustion leaving him dizzy. Elias steadied Jon with a hand on his arm, warm palm on bare skin. The gentle, supportive presence he found himself craving during weaker moments. During times of uncertainty. Like the past few months.

“The main reason I’m here, Jon, is that you’re in no state to continue travelling, much less under these circumstances,” Elias said in a serious tone that took Jon by surprise. “You can’t expend yourself without giving anything in return. You need a statement.” 

It seemed so clear to Jon, all of a sudden. “Then why don’t I start with yours?” 

There it was again, that crackling in the air, filling the space between them with a power that looped into and around itself. His free hand shot out to grab one of the lapels on Elias’s suit jacket, to pull him closer. The thrumming in his ears got louder as the distance between them shrank. He looked into Elias’s eyes, looked into _him_, tasting the heady mix of triumph and fear, almost there, so close he could feel it with every fibre of his body, he just needed to sink his teeth in and- 

The connection snapped, a rubber band stretched beyond its capacity, and Jon crumpled in Elias’s arms, breathing heavily against his shoulder, fingers weakly curled against his chest. The tape recorder slipped out of Jon’s grip and landed on the shabby carpet with a muffled thud.

“Oh, Jon.” The way he said it, Jon could almost feel it, dragging him down, reeling him in. “You are marvellous. But it’s still too early for that,” Elias murmured into his hair. He closed his arms around Jon, an embrace as much as an effort to keep him upright. With a firm arm around Jon’s waist, Elias half-guided, half-carried Jon to the bed. “One day, I’ll let you take everything from me. But until then…” 

Jon shivered as Elias left him on the bed, his chest tightening at the thought of Elias leaving before he became properly aware of it. But instead, Elias simply retrieved a Manila folder from his suitcase and picked up the tape recorder again. He took off his suit jacket and shoes before sitting on the bed and drawing Jon back into his arms. Silence settled between them. Jon almost felt like he could have fallen asleep like that, warm and comfortable. But he knew what he needed. 

Elias let him turn in his arms and retrieved the statement for him. Jon skimmed it, briefly, before leaning into Elias’s embrace and starting to read. 

“Statement of Howard Ewing, regarding his interview with an unidentified member of British Transport Police.”

The world around him faded away, giving way to misery and fear, and a pleasant burn on his tongue. 

By the time he had finished his statement, the heavy, nauseating weight that had settled on him was gone, leaving him to breathe freely for the first time in days. There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him to reflect on the statement, to consider the implications and run. But it was quieted easily when Elias ran his fingers through Jon’s hair, one arm still around him. Jon followed suit when Elias lay down properly. This time, all he needed to move closer was the invitation of Elias’s open arms. Jon let his hand rest on Elias’s chest, eyes fluttering shut already. It was only then that he noticed the bandage beneath his fingers. 

Jon sat up so suddenly he felt lightheaded. Elias looked up to him, his expression unreadable. But the easy smile from before was gone. 

“What happened?” Jon’s head throbbed, and he found himself continuing before Elias could answer. “Melanie. Because—because you were distracted.” The knowledge slid into place with a click that filled Jon with satisfaction. And with dread. “By me.”

He could picture it so clearly, as if it had been his own memory. Elias asking Melanie to take a seat so the performance review could begin. His voice trailing off as something far away caught his attention. Just a moment of carelessness. It was enough for Melanie to pick up the letter opener and stab it into his chest. Only missing anything vital due to the awkward angle as she leaned across the desk. Overbalancing just a bit, giving Elias a chance to twist away before she could attack him again. A chance to flee into the room connected to his office and lock himself in. He leaned against the door as she hammered against it. As the stain of blood spread across his immaculate shirt. Until his legs finally gave out. 

“Jon,” Elias said softly, raising his hand to touch Jon’s cheek. It was enough to chase the images away, though they lingered just below the surface of his thoughts, ready to bubble up again. Would she succeed, next time? 

“Elias, I—” He didn’t know what to say, his throat constricting around words that refused to fully form. 

Elias shushed him gently. “I know,” he said quietly, and Jon shivered. The hand on Jon’s cheek slid to the back of his neck, and Jon let himself be pulled down again. He rested his head on Elias’s chest, his hand above Elias’s heart to feel its reassuringly steady beat. To try to fend off the images flashing before his eyes again, mingling with Howard Ewing’s statement. The loss he’d felt. The dreadful certainty that soon, someone else he cared about would be taken from him. And that it would be his fault.

He didn’t notice he was shaking until Elias placed a hand on his. His thumb brushed lightly across Jon’s knuckles, across his tense fingers twisting in Elias’s shirt, until his grip relaxed.

“It will be alright, Jon. Don’t let this distract you from the Unknowing.” Elias let out a quiet laugh. “If there’s one thing to take away from this event, it’s that distractions can be dangerous.” He entwined their fingers. “Even if I do love watching you.”

His other hand slid down to Jon’s waist, resting there. Gentle. Proprietary. Grounding. Jon closed his eyes and tried to focus on the heat that radiated from Elias, setting his nerves alight, evoking for just a moment the Desolation’s flames. But this was different; the pleasant warmth of the sun in autumn. He huddled against Elias, sinking deeper into the embrace, before he finally drifted off. 

When Jon woke, he felt so energised, so content that it took him a few moments to notice that the empty space next to him was cold. The room was utterly quiet, save for the droning hum of the fridge. Elias must have taken off hours ago; neither his suit jacket nor his briefcase was anywhere in sight. Jon sighed as he pushed himself up, struggling against the weight of resigned disappointment, when he noticed the folder on the nightstand. Elias had left another statement for him. Looking out for him, caring for him, the same way he’d warned him about the hunters’ presence. And perhaps he was right; Jon couldn’t afford any distractions right now. The Unknowing had to be his priority. And afterwards… 

Well. If there was an afterwards for him. For all of them. For Elias.

He pushed the thought aside, and opened the folder, curious to see what statement it held, and found a note inside. “I’ll be watching.” It shouldn’t have been a comfort, shouldn’t have eased the raw ache in his chest. But Jon found himself hoping Elias would keep that promise, even as he dreaded the consequences it might bring. Knowing that whatever decision he made, it could only be the wrong one. And that he'd have to make one all the same.


	5. Chapter 5

Martin’s steps were impossibly certain when he walked into Jon’s office and handed him the tape. 

“That’s it,” he said, as Jon took it from him. “Everyone recorded their bit.” He laughed, sounding a little sad, but far surer than Jon was used to. “It’s good, though. To have that record.”

“Yes. A testament to what...well, perhaps not what we’ve built.” Jon ran his fingers over the grooves and ridges of the tape, oddly hesitant to put it aside. 

“To what we’ve lost,” Martin said. Then he sighed, and added, “It really feels like an end, doesn’t it?”

An end. Jon’s hand tightened on the tape, and his throat tightened with it. At the fear he was barely suppressing, of the Unknowing. And the unknown. As terrifying as the last couple years had been, there was a continuity to it. An element of certainty, that in the end, it all circled around a solid core. A meaning, even if he barely understood what it was anymore. 

He shoved the tape into his top drawer, and looked up at Martin. “Are you sure about this?” Not saying what, still trying to hide it, even if poorly. 

“Yes, Jon. I’m sure. As sure as I can be, at least.” 

And he did sound it. Confident, in a way Jon wasn’t used to seeing from Martin. Almost enough to calm his racing heart, to see an outcome that wasn’t a gory revenge tragedy. Bodies strewn across the stage, for no reason except to feed a mindless violence. The terror rose again, frothing at his lips until he found himself standing, one hand on the desk, a sharpness to his words as he asked Martin another question. 

“Can you keep Melanie in check?”

“No, not if she won’t listen to reason. I’m not going to die for Elias.” 

His eyes widened, mouth working as they both realized what Jon had done. 

“I’m so sorry, Martin, I didn’t mean to—”

Martin gave him a weak smile. “I know. It’s—it’s fine. You didn’t mean to. Right? So it’s fine.” 

“Of course not.” But the thrill of it, the guilt that didn’t quite drown it out. He hadn’t wanted to want it. But he wasn’t sure that was enough, anymore. Wasn’t sure it’d ever been enough. 

Martin took a shaky breath, stepping back towards the door. “I really will try, Jon. I just can’t promise it, you know?” 

“I know,” Jon said. The significance weighing on him, dragging him back into his seat. Reaching for his drawer, opening it to rest his hand on a torn-out page. And next to it, a key. “Be careful, Martin.”

Somehow, Martin still managed to smile, small and almost sweet, if not for the fear Jon couldn’t help but see. The terror he couldn’t help but feel. 

“You too, Jon. And good luck.”

He shut the door behind him, too soon to hear what Jon said. But it didn’t matter if he heard it. All that mattered was that he’d said the words. Recorded them, as his voice rose, and the page turned to ash in his fingers. The pain dead skin could no longer feel echoed in Jon, until that too diminished. Leaving him alone, and cold, with only one path left to take. 

A constant flicker of pain remained, like a stubborn candle in a draft. Jon couldn’t tell if it was getting better or worse, and the knots in his stomach were hardly helping. Nor the weight of the evidence he carried, growing heavier with every step he took down the street. Until he finally arrived at the building where Elias lived. 

The buzzer sounded the moment Jon lifted his hand to the panel, and on reflex, Jon pushed the door open. Cursing himself quietly for it, but then, it wasn’t like Elias was unaware of his presence. Elias had been watching him; he always did. Jon had become more aware of it recently. If he tried to pinpoint it, perhaps during his time in America. Keeping an eye on him when Julia approached him. When he stole Gerry's page from the book and hid it in the pocket of his jacket, terrified the two hunters would notice its outline beneath the thin material. When had it become such a source of comfort, to feel that gaze turn towards him? Leaving behind an odd hollowness in its absence. 

His steps echoed through the building as he walked to the lift, a wide, spacious things with a polished mirror wall inside. The bright light above was unforgiving, highlighting every scar on Jon’s face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. The grey in his hair that had taken over in the past couple of months. And Elias was responsible for all of it, one way or another. 

Jon swallowed. There was still time to leave. But… he’d made his choice. He’d made it the second he’d decided to break into Elias’s office. Though that wasn’t quite how it had happened. He’d simply taken the key he was supposed to leave behind for Melanie in the tunnels. 

It was better that way, it had to be. Avoiding distractions, wasn’t that what Elias had said? If he was to stop the Unknowing, he couldn’t allow himself to let his mind keep drifting back to the Institute. _I’m not going to die for Elias._ The words echoed in his head. No, it wasn’t something he could ask of Martin. But…

The image of Elias collapsing against his door returned to haunt him when he closed his eyes. The fragility of a human being, or close enough to one to hurt. To die. All because of a single moment of distraction, when Jon hadn’t even been in danger, not really. What could happen during the Unknowing, then?

He had to avoid putting Elias in danger altogether. Whatever he’d done, he deserved a trial, and a cell. Not a knife in the back. Hadn’t that been the reason he’d approached Daisy in the first place?

But no matter how sound his reasoning had seemed at that moment, the guilt had already seeped into his bones when he’d opened the drawer that hid the evidence they needed. It’d only got worse when he’d slipped out of the office, beneath the watchful gaze of Jonah Magnus’s portrait. The only thing that remained was to call Daisy’s contact at Section 31, to hand over the evidence to ensure Elias’s arrest. To ensure his safety. And the safety of others. But he hadn’t called. Not yet. 

A quiet ding announced that the lift had arrived. Jon stepped into the corridor, trying to remain resolute as he walked to Elias’s door. Trying to remind himself of why he’d come, to find a reason to hold onto amid the panicked flurry of his thoughts. But when the door opened for him, his mind went blank. 

Jon entered and let the door fall shut. He could hear the clinking of glasses in the distance, the quiet sound of liquid being poured. So he took off his shoes and, after a brief moment of hesitation, dropped the bag of tapes on top of them. Then he crossed the soft carpet to head deeper into flat. 

Elias was waiting for him in the living room, sitting on the elegant leather sofa, wearing only a crisp white button-down and slacks. There were two glasses of Scotch on the table, and Elias pushed one towards him as he greeted him. 

Jon refused to take it. Refused to sit down. He tried to remember what he’d wanted to say, snatches of phrases he’d thought up on his way just out of reach. Instead, apologies were trying to claw their way up his throat. He swallowed them down, rubbing his fingers together and feeling the ash that still lingered there. The reminder, of one small act of defiance.

“I burned the page,” he said, meeting Elias’s gaze. 

Elias didn’t look surprised. Or even disappointed. Instead, he simply acknowledged what Jon had said with a nod, and Jon had to hold himself still so as to not falter under his gaze. Was he angry, that Jon had disobeyed? It would have served him right. Or was he disappointed? The thought wound itself around his chest like a ribbon made of steel.

“How did it feel?” Elias asked. 

As if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t watched. But his voice was soft as he asked, luring out the truth. “It hurt. It still does.” 

“I expected it would.”

He didn’t try to stand, or beckon Jon closer. His voice remained level and calm. Once, it would’ve been a comfort. To know he'd done what Elias had wanted, what he expected, without even being asked. Praise for his skill, pride in his accomplishments. But now, the band around his chest only tightened.

“I thought you wanted the page. Or is this another promising development? Who cares what might’ve been lost, as long as you think I made progress. Whatever that means.” 

“I wanted you to find it. To learn from it, and to choose what you’d do with that information.”

“Of course.” Jon laughed, not caring how bitter it sounded. Another cryptic task, Jon caught again by his words, left to flail and writhe on the end of his hook.

“Once, I might’ve mourned the loss.” He leaned forward, solemn expression lifting into a small, private smile. “But I learned long ago that people contain more than books ever could. Even if those books contain the shadows of people.”

“I don’t understand.” More plaintive than he’d intended, as he swayed towards the chair across from Elias. A compromise, not too familiar, not giving in, but enough to rest. To calm the pounding in his head, the wild staccato of his heart. But before he could find his footing, put that necessary distance into place, Elias had stood, ensnaring him with a hand around his arm.

“Why did you come here, Jon?”

He stiffened, almost pulled away, to escape that inescapable gaze. To avoid the questions he didn’t want to answer. The ones whose answers tasted flat and false on his lips. For a confession, he’d thought, as he’d strode out the doors of the Institute. An explanation, as he’d walked more slowly down the street to Elias’s flat. Just to see Elias, as if that would solve anything, would do anything except further muddy waters already gone black.

“You know why,” he snapped. “Just like you knew I’d burned the page. Is it some sort of…Beholding thing, to ask annoying questions?”

Elias laughed, and Christ, Jon hated how he still enjoyed the sound. The way the warmth of it expanded in his chest, spreading through his limbs as he tried to muster the strength to resist his pull.

“I know what you did, Jon. But I don’t know why. As I’ve said before, I’m not omniscient.” Somehow, Elias had gotten closer, his hand sliding up to Jon’s bicep, even as Jon put a hand on his chest to keep him away. “And even if I were, I’d still enjoy hearing it come from your own lips.”

His cheeks heated, and his fingers curled, preparing to push Elias away, slipping between the gaps in Elias’s shirt. “How terrible for you, to have limits on your voyeurism.”

“I do find it inconvenient, at times. I’ve been wondering what kind of plan you were hatching, down there in the tunnels. But this wasn’t part of it, was it? Giving me all these opportunities to interfere.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” Jon’s breath came out shallow as he spoke, leaving his voice strangled. Did it make his compulsion weaker? Or was it simply that with Elias here, looming over him, he found it nearly impossible to keep his thoughts straight. To remember what he was supposed to do. Supposed to feel.

Elias shivered nevertheless. His thumb was stroking idly over Jon’s neck, just a featherlight pressure on Jon’s pulse point, making him aware of how fast his heart was racing. 

“Of course, I could have simply driven over when I saw your fingers lingering on the key. Mapping each groove, stroking along the curve in fretful contemplation, watching the ridges digging into your palm when you finally made the decision. Caught you, again, in flagrante delicto.” 

His thumb stilled for a moment, pressing harder into Jon’s pulse point as Elias waited. For a protest Jon should make, but found he couldn’t, breath stolen away as surely as he’d stolen into Elias’s office.

“Or,” Elias continued, “I could have found another way to stall you. Stop you. But I was curious, Jon. I wanted to see what you would do. What choices you would make. And how soon they would lead you right here. To me.”

“You couldn’t have known that,” Jon whispered, trying to ignore the gentle touch he wanted to lean into, the hand that was settling on his side. Trying to evade Elias’s eyes, which were fixed so firmly on him.

“And I didn’t,” Elias said. “But I won’t lie to you Jon, I was hoping you would come here.”

“Because it’s more convenient for you if I hand-deliver the evidence?” 

Elias laughed again, a low sound this time. It sent pleasant chills down Jon’s spine, making gooseflesh prickle across heated skin. 

“I won’t deny that would make things easier. But then I hadn’t realised you intended to give it to me.”

“That’s—that’s not—” he sputtered, before catching himself. “Does what I intend even matter?”

Elias actually seemed to be considering the question. A response Jon hadn’t expected. One he was finding disconcerting. Elias had always said he valued Jon’s opinion, but he’d thought, well. Things had changed. 

“Yes,” Elias finally said. “I won’t interfere, whatever you decide.”

As startingly as it had been unexpected, and oddly unpleasant. He should be glad, to find that Elias would make no attempt to wrest them from him by force or blackmail, or whatever other powers he had at his disposal. Instead he found it discomforting, in a way he struggled to define. 

“Then why did you hope I’d come here?” It was unnecessary, to compel. But it felt good, to let the tension that was boiling at his core loose in a surge of power. To find Elias receptive like nobody else, his grip tightening in a way that made Jon respond in kind, unthinking. 

“The truth is, Jon, I wanted to see you one more time before the Unknowing.” 

Elias’s eyes remained fixed on him as Jon tried to process his answer. With his focus on the plan to remove Elias, he’d largely managed to suppress his terror at the task that lay ahead of him. How he still had no idea what he was meant to do, how they could triumph against something they could barely comprehend. Blowing it up seemed far too simple. And far too likely to do more than stop the Stranger. 

The last thought brought him to exactly what he’d been avoiding most, swallowing back a wave of nausea as the fear came to the fore. “Before I die, you mean.” Jon’s hand tightened in Elias’s shirt. He’d tried not to think about the possibility too much, but it’d grown harder to ignore. Harder still, when Elias forced him to dwell on it now. 

Elias gave his waist a little squeeze then, one that made Jon jump, but it also succeeded in distracting him, in letting the thoughts drift to the back of his mind. Letting his body drift forward, forearm pressed against Elias’s chest, across his heart.

“What will happen?” The tension from before simmering lower, the fire banked but still burning in the pit of his stomach. The need, to draw the raw words from Elias’s throat.

“I don’t know.”

Jon hissed in frustration, would’ve pulled away except for the hand that had somehow crept around his back, snuck under the hem of his shirt to rest fingers between the knobs of his spine. A dodge, but that wasn’t it. Simply the wrong question. He licked his lips, and met Elias’s eyes again, sure that now he had the right one.

“What do you hope will happen?”

Elias’s fingers played along each vertebra, leaving them vibrating as he ran his tongue along his teeth, and finally designed to answer. “I hope you’ll prevent the world the Stranger wants from ever coming into being. And that you’ll emerge. Cut and cracked and moulded into something stronger than you ever were before.”

He pressed a thumb to the corner of Jon’s lips, palm cradling Jon’s cheek. Jon flushed as Elias swept the errant digit across it, trying and failing to turn his head, to go back down a path he could no longer see. Fumbling in the dark for the questions still simmering gently on his tongue.

“So I won’t be me? I won’t be human?”

“Questions with different answers, neither of them simple.”

Jon looked up, glaring into Elias’s kind, solemn face. How could he still think Elias was kind, knowing what he’d done? What he still would do, what he was doing to Jon right now? Even being here was a betrayal.

But he couldn’t let it go. So he pulled in everything he had in one shuddering breath, forced it out in a question Elias had to answer.

“Then answer them both. How will I change?”

For a moment, he thought it hadn’t been enough. As Elias’s eyelids fluttered, the connection broken, his lips working over syllables but his throat still and silent. Until Jon lifted his hand to Elias’s neck, and pressed down along his vocal chords, waiting for the vibrations choked back by closely held secrets. And finally, Elias spoke.

“If everything goes well,” he said, voice soft, almost breathless, “you will truly become the Archivist.” His grip on Jon’s chin tightened, and he pressed their foreheads together. “My Archivist.”

“What does that mean?” He hated how desperate he sounded, hated more how the arm forming a protective barrier between them had started to relax, his hand slowly sliding down and settling on Elias’s side.

“You’re afraid. Understandable.” His breath ghosted over Jon’s lips, making Jon tremble even as he clung on harder. “Desirable, even. Hold that fear close, Jon. You’ll need it. To truly fear something, you must know it. Know it, and wish you could forget.”

“And then what? That isn’t—” 

The hand on Jon’s chin tightened, the fingers on his spine now pressing hard enough to bruise. Elias’s eyes where impossibly wild, his breath less steady than before. And Jon had done that to him. Had drawn this from him. And when he ran a finger over Elias’s throat, tracing each curve and divot, it made Elias shudder. And made Elias speak. 

“It’s not something I can explain. Not now. But I’ve felt it. That terror, at the brink of being unmade, only to be reshaped into something I had never thought possible. The bitter price of knowledge, but one I gladly paid. You will pay it, too. And come out stronger for it.”

It meant nothing, but it felt right. That he should concede this, the knowledge rightfully gained. But no. Still, there was more. Even as his tongue tripped over the words, and he lost himself deeper in Elias’s embrace, he managed to gasp out, “And then, the Watcher’s Crown?”

Elias was breathing heavily, eyes so wide and dark Jon almost felt like he was falling. Like he’d always been falling, that it was the only way to truly know. One more push—

“What is the Watcher’s Crown?”

The words had barely passed his lips when Elias kissed him, hot and greedy, his nails digging into Jon’s bare skin. Jon opened his mouth to allow Elias in, unable to hold back a moan. 

It wasn’t the answer Jon was looking for, but he could still feel secret knowledge pass between them, the hint of a grander mystery. A sense of fear, and failure, tempered with the bittersweetness of a triumph wrested from the ashes of defeat. At the centre, still waiting, still hoping to have everything, an everything Jon still couldn’t understand. So he clung to Elias as his mind was overtaken, just briefly, before Elias pulled back again. 

They were both panting heavily now, holding on to one another. Elias’s fingers pressed firmly against Jon’s bare skin, his palm warm and broad against his lower back. 

“Elias.” It came out breathless, needy. “What is the Watcher’s Crown? Please, tell me.” 

Elias let out a shuddering breath, his chest rising and lowering beneath Jon’s arm, his heart beating a furious tattoo. And still, he didn’t answer, too strong to give in as Jon pulled, and pulled. Or else, Jon wasn’t strong enough yet.

“Why?” 

“Because I need to know.” There was an echo of familiarity in his answer, in the smile Elias gave in response, warming Jon to his core. A dangerous answer, he knew that now. But the reasons it was dangerous seemed distant, buried under the fumbling terror that pushed him onwards, the tattered remains of warnings unheeded. The need, that brought him closer to Elias, dragging fingers over his heart as if to tear the truth from him. Whatever it might cost.

“I cannot tell you, Jon, not now,” he whispered. Leaning forward to kiss him again, but this time, it was a delicate thing, just a hint of tongue, and when he broke away, Jon had to keep himself from chasing after his lips. 

“But I can promise you, the next time we meet, there will be no more secrets between us.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” Jon murmured against Elias’s lips. They brushed against Jon’s as they curved into a smile. 

“I look forward to it. Now, no more compulsion. You will need your strength for tomorrow.”

Silence spread between them, but calmness was still far beyond grasp. In the quiet, Jon could hear his own pulse rushing in his ears. How laboured his own breathing was, still, exertion that had gone unanswered. But it was all part of what kept him firmly in the moment. A moment in which he was on the precipice of losing himself in Elias’s gaze, secrets within reach and yet too far away from him to grasp. It had to be enough, for now.

“I think I should… go,” Jon said eventually. Sighed when Elias’s fingers pressed gently into the base of his skull. He felt warm and comfortable in his arms. So relaxed that he was unsure whether he would be able to stand on his own if Elias were to release him without warning. 

“Or you could stay,” Elias said. “You don’t have to be alone tonight.” Such a simple solution in the face of the dread awaiting him. Or all of them, if he failed, and the thought was enough to make him shift closer, the sudden tension in his chest easing again when Elias held him tighter, each brush of his fingers against his skin untangling a mess of worry and fear. As if he hadn’t contributed to it with his very own hands. 

But when Jon leaned forward, drawing Elias into another kiss, those thoughts, too, scattered. 

Rain collected on the window pane as Jon stared out into the grey morning. Trying to decide what to do. His fingers caught the corner of the duvet, torn between peeling it off and pulling it closer, letting himself sink back into the comfort of oblivion. Pressing himself against the solid heat of Elias’s back, until Elias noticed, and dragged Jon back into his arms.

But he’d already lingered too long. Extracting himself from the duvet, he staggered to his feet, shivering as his body-warmed skin made contact with the air. He crossed his arms, squinting into the dim room to find his clothes, gathering them and heading towards the en-suite bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. A shower was probably out of the question, certain to wake Elias, but at least he could throw himself into some semblance of order, to conceal what he could of what had happened last night.

Setting the clothes aside, he turned to the mirror, and winced at the sight that greeted him. Mottled bruises, some with clear imprints of teeth, littered his chest, his neck, the crease of his jaw. He drew a finger over them, shivering and trying to pretend it was just the cold. Just irritation at how hard they’d be to hide. Which was almost certainly Elias’s intent, obnoxious as he was. Smug at how clearly he’d marked Jon, how he’d branded his Archivist with evidence of his presence. They suit you, he’d said. Jon had sighed in exasperation, and then sighed again as Elias gave him another, until all he could do was gasp and wind his fingers through Elias’s hair.

He flushed at the memory, and forced himself to look down at the sink, to turn the water on. Washing his face and rummaging through the cabinets until he found a spare toothbrush, before starting to get dressed. He let out a quiet groan when he realized he’d left his shirt behind. So he pulled on his underwear and trousers, slinging his blazer over his arm before heading back into the room.

In the bed, Elias remained motionless. The pang in Jon’s chest had to be relief, that this would be easier. He needed to go. To do what he’d set out to, before he’d pursued this mad detour. Scanning the room, he spotted his shirt slung haphazardly across the back of the armchair. His skin prickled as he hurried over to it, pulling it on as quickly as he could, only realising when he stuffed an arm in that it was too large.

Well. It’d have to do. He didn’t know about Elias’s sleeping habits, but Jon didn’t take him for a heavy sleeper. The sooner he left, the better. 

He tiptoed out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him. Finally allowing himself to take a deep breath. But he shouldn’t linger any longer. There was a notepad on a small table near the door, exactly what he needed. 

His hands shook slightly as he picked up the bag he had dropped unceremoniously the previous night, setting it on the table so he wouldn’t forget it. He’d made his decision. What had happened didn’t change that. It couldn’t.

The pen by the notepad weighed heavy in his hand when he picked it up. _Elias_, he began. And paused. There was so much he wanted to say. So little that needed to be said. 

“Leaving already?“ Startled, Jon drew a sharp line across the paper. Elias used the moment to step closer, just as silently as he’d approached, and wrapped a large hand around Jon’s shoulder. Even in the grey light of dawn, his lips easily found one of the marks on Jon’s neck, still stinging, and the gentle pinching of teeth hardly helped. And yet, Jon found himself melting into his arms, his limbs going slack as the pain sparked anew, and with it, memories of the previous night’s pleasure.

“I– yes,” Jon said. “There are still some things I need to do before… it’s time.” He sighed. “And there’s something I would like to talk to you about, too. Also, I think this is yours.” His hands moved to open one of the few buttons of Elias’s shirt he’d bothered fastening in his haste, but Elias drew him closer, stopping him from undressing. Even separated by such a flimsy layer, Jon could feel the warmth of Elias’s body against his skin. It made him wish he’d stayed in bed after all.

“Keep it,” Elias said, starting to button it up properly. Jon watched his hands, long, unerring fingers moving slowly but without straying, leaving the buttons on the top open. Leaving his marks exposed. “I like the way it looks on you.”

Jon tried to ignore the heat rising to his face and pulled away, his movements languid with reluctance. “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen, then.”

“All right.” 

Jon had already turned away, but he couldn’t help glancing at Elias as he made his way back to the bedroom. Just long enough to catch the angry red marks he’d scratched into Elias’s skin as he’d clung to him. Marked him, in his own way, as he’d witnessed the calm and collected mask slip away, a secret glimpse of something raw and desperate and real that had made him wish he would never have to let go of him again. Would Elias, too, look at them in the mirror? Feel them under the fabric of his shirt with every movement. Cherish them, the way Jon himself— His cheeks burned when he noticed he’d raised his hand to trace the one just at the side of his throat again. The pleasant stinging Elias had ignited anew. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, and stepped into the living room.

The distance finally gave him an opportunity to explore Elias’s flat a little, to the sound of water rushing in the distance. The living room seemed nearly empty, stark lines of dark wood cutting into the negative space of the wall. But the shelves were filled with well-sorted books on a variety of subjects, and while the rest of the room was almost too neat for him, he imagined that he would have ultimately enjoyed staying here while in hiding. He wouldn’t have gotten bored, at least.

As Jon inspected the titles of fiction and non-fiction works alike, he finished buttoning up the shirt. He had to admit it was rather comfortable. The material was soft, soothing against the spots that had been bitten red, and it smelled pleasantly of Elias’s cologne.

As he moved along further, he caught the sharp smell of Scotch. One of the glasses had toppled over, a vague memory of the sound of glass rolling across wood, nothing worth sparing any attention while Elias’s lips had been on him.

In the kitchen, he busied himself with coffee, trying to distract himself. Went back to the living room to clean up the mess they had made. But then, there was nothing left to do. So he simply sat in the kitchen, staring into his cup. Stirring his coffee even though he’d added neither milk nor sugar.

Elias arrived only a little later, dressed in soft-looking trousers and a jumper. He took a seat, hands closing around the cup Jon had prepared for him. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes.” Jon sighed and took a sip of his coffee. Maybe tea would have been better after all. “Please, stay in today.”

“Protecting me from your assistants’ little scheme? I’m touched.”

“Don’t be,” Jon bristled. “But I’m serious.”

Elias brought the cup to his lips, a look of contentment suffusing his face as he inhaled and look a sip, while Jon’s stomach twisted into knots. Even now, Elias kept his eyes on Jon.

The chair scraped across the floor, and Elias stood. Crossing the small distance between them, taking Jon’s own cup from his unresisting hand and setting it down carefully. Before leaning in to kiss Jon, palm against his cheek. And all Jon could do was open under him, trying to memorize the way Elias’s fingers pressed into his jaw, the taste of bitter coffee on his tongue.

“Something to remember, when sight fails.” His thumb swept under Jon’s eye, and he pressed another kiss to the corner.

Jon’s fingers flexed helplessly against the counter, trying to muster the protests he thought but didn’t feel, the words he had to say but couldn’t summon. “Elias. Please.” Not even sure what he was asking anymore. No longer certain it mattered.

“I’ll stay.”

The gentle promise eased the tension that had been holding Jon’s heart in a vice. He stood on shaky legs, trapped now only in indecision. He’d said everything he’d wanted to say. Now all he could do was leave. But he gladly yielded this decision to Elias when he drew him into his arms, coaxed him into turning to let Jon lean against his chest, feel it rise and fall with calm, steady breaths he found himself matching. 

Outside, the city was slowly coming to life, and Jon leaned forward slightly, just enough to be able to peer down at the street through the window. To watch the people on their way to work, leaving their secrets carefully guarded at home, or carrying them close to their hearts. But not close enough that Jon couldn’t see the flicker of them in the distance. 

“A lovely view, isn’t it?” Elias murmured against his temple, and Jon agreed, absentmindedly, before he caught Elias’s reflection, eyes focused not on the goings-on outside but on him. As they always were. 

He groaned, face heating, words of protest already on his lips, but they faded away when Elias tipped Jon’s chin up and to the side, just slightly. Just enough for Jon to bridge the short distance between them and kiss him. 

“It’s time,” Elias said when they broke apart, a note of wistfulness in his voice. He stepped back, leaving Jon feeling cold and empty. His hand reached out before he’d fully formed the thought, until Elias wrapped it in his, guiding Jon gently towards the door. Handing him his blazer, which Jon numbly put on.

It was time to go, to whatever fate awaited him. To abandon the comfort of Elias’s gaze, still resting on the back of his neck. He gripped the door knob, white knuckled, before dropping it and turning back around.

“Elias, will you—” He had to know what Jon wanted, what Jon was going to ask, but still he waited for Jon. Always waited for Jon. “Will you be watching?”

“Jon. There is nothing I love as much as watching you.”

His eyes were bright, a small smile tugging his lips, and it was all far too much. Jon scrambled for the knob, turning it while Elias just kept watching as he stumbled into the corridor. Watching as he hurried down the street. Watching even as he went far beyond where any human eye could follow. Until finally, he reached the looming white columns of the Institute, sagging against them, burying his face in his arms. The shirt, Elias’s shirt, still smelled like him. And the eyes, all of them, still watched.

It was only then he realized he’d left the tapes on Elias’s table, next to a barely started note only containing Elias’s name. Would he think Jon had intended to leave them? That he’d decided that Elias didn’t deserve prison, or that Jon’s own personal feelings—biases—might have led him to be more lenient? But no, Elias had to know the truth.

The truth. Jon stared blankly out into the street, watching people passing by as his heart continued to beat frantically. What was the truth? That Elias had distracted him, left Jon so flustered that he left Elias what he wanted? Or had some part of Jon wanted to leave them. That with the warmth of Elias still lingering on his lips, the thought of losing him…

He dug his fingers into his hair, hating Elias. And not hating him at all. Knowing he should go back, collect the tapes. Call Elias’s bluff, if it had been a ploy, if he hadn’t meant it when he said it was Jon’s choice. But when he slowly raised his eyes to meet those of a stranger, he knew it was more than an idle, passing glance. A heavy, familiar regard settled over him. A far too comforting weight. Slowly, he got to his feet. And when he walked into the Institute, he didn’t look back.

No distractions. Elias was watching. And Jon needed him to see.


	6. Epilogue

Elias’s surroundings were quiet, save for the howling of the wind outside and the sound of waves crashing against rock. He was hardly surprised Peter preferred this place to the landlocked family house. 

While Elias himself preferred the bustling London streets, given their current positions, it seemed a suitable trade-off. For Peter to be duty-bound to a place where nothing could evade the Eye’s sight, while Elias was all but trapped in a place its gaze could hardly reach, remote as the cottage was in a way that went beyond mere physical distance from other living souls. But he had to admit, it was for the best. And, he thought as he slowly sipped at a rather fine single malt whiskey he’d retrieve from Peter’s cellar, it was certainly more agreeable than prison. 

The window before him offered a perfect view of the rough sea, but he wasn’t paying it any mind. His gaze instead turned towards the Institute, focused on Jon, as it often was. Even more often these days, isolated as they both were, Elias by location, and Jon by his own actions. 

In the wake of Martin’s little plot going awry, Basira and Melanie’s suspicions were hardly a surprise. While Elias had tried to smooth it over, to draw their attention to him and his own semi-omniscience, Basira was keen enough to notice the inconsistencies. And Melanie was more than happy to follow her lead, her misgivings stoked by the Slaughter’s melodious whisper in her ear. And so while they had not rejected Jon entirely, they remained wary. Distant. 

Martin might’ve been a balm, and one Elias would’ve barely begrudged, had he not envisaged another purpose for him. When they’d last spoken, Elias had been careful to stoke the flames of suspicion in a different direction. To elicit the fear that Elias might have corrupted Jon, in some indefinable way. And that Martin might be able to do something, anything, to save him from that influence. With Peter there to present a helpful partner in crime. Still one to watch, far brighter than Elias had thought. But the situation was managed for now. And Jon was alone, caught up in the remnants of guilt for what he’d done, and what he hadn’t done. Bereft of Elias’s encouragement, his comfort, and his guidance. 

The thought pained him more than he expected, and he was never one to let himself suffer unduly. So his eyes remained on Jon for now, sitting in Elias’s office, taking a statement from a poor soul who’d wandered in looking for solace.

It was easy to slip into that man’s mind, primed for Beholding as it was. To watch his Archivist through wild, terrified eyes as words spilled out of his mouth uninhibited. A statement about terrible heights and the long drops that followed. It wasn’t quite what Jon was looking for, Elias could tell, but he was soaking up every word nevertheless, beautiful in his attempts to satisfy his relentless hunger, eyes alight and transfixed. Elias shivered pleasantly at the thought of feeling Jon’s gaze upon him.

He had watched when Jon had made his choice, so soon after Seeing through the Unknowing. Not too long after the one and only time he’d visited before leaving London. 

He hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of witnessing the mesmerising contrast up close — the dead stillness of Jon’s body, his heart unbeating where it had fluttered with ecstasy beneath Elias’s palm just a few nights ago. But his mind had been more alive than ever before, welcoming Elias as he’d sunk into his fearful dreams to watch, distant and unseen, but never invisible to the Eye that had turned its eternal gaze upon them both. Recording every detail of the dread and suffering his Archivist drank in. Horrified, yet just as unable to turn away as Elias had been when Jon had become one with the Eye. Still, his lips had remained cold and unmoving when Elias had kissed him goodbye. Better that way, he’d tried to convince himself. His place was to watch Jon from afar. Forced to deny himself the opportunity to be the first person Jon laid his eyes on upon waking from glorious nightmares. But his transformation wasn’t complete yet, and Elias’s presence would be an unnecessary complication in these delicate stages. And he knew that Jon would be ready soon.

The statement was over, and Jon took a deep breath. He smiled in a way he thought comforting as he thanked the hapless man for his contribution, not realizing his distant kindness was only another form of terror. Then the expression froze on his face, just as Elias was hit by the same awareness—a congregation of Flesh approaching the Institute. Earlier than planned, but that was hardly an issue under these circumstances.

“You should leave,” Jon warned the man. “It’s not safe here.” He didn’t have to tell him twice.

As the man fled through the corridors, Jon stayed behind, taking a moment to drag his fingers along the shining wood of the desk. Closing his eyes, and breathing deep, while his hand tightened around the edge, and Elias tightened with it. Deprived of living eyes, he watched through the portrait of Jonah Magnus that hung in his office, feeling as Jon felt, a frisson of knowledge creeping up his spine. His hands trembled when he stood, but his footsteps were steady, the weight of what he’d learned bearing him down to the Archives once more.

The Institute filled with unnatural creatures formed of mismatched flesh and shot through with bent and fragmented bone. And amidst the chaos and fearful screams, the pieces started falling in place. Melanie moving her blade to the tune of the Slaughter; Martin running towards Peter for help through abandoned corridors. 

Jon, meanwhile, was forced to take a detour through Artefact Storage. A look from him sent the few employees there retreating to their offices. It gave Jon pause for a moment, to wonder which monster they were scared of, if they’d heeded the clear warning, or if he was a warning himself. Long enough for him to spare a glance for the mirror frame, velvet cover pooled on the floor. His breath hitched at the sight of the figures in its frame. A sight Elias found himself wishing Jon would linger on, even knowing that this wasn’t the time, that if Jon truly Saw it might all come to ruin. But he pulled away, as he must, dashing down the flights of stairs, plummeting towards the intruder in their sanctum. Only once more did he stop, flinching at Melanie’s distant scream of rage, the echoes of her battle with the monsters that proceeded through the Institute’s doors. Daring but a glance in the direction of his own quarry, before hurrying below.

In the Archives, the only eyes were Jon’s, and so Elias settled behind them. Familiar and strange at once, in how alike they were, how different they were from all others. At the door to his office, Jon hesitated, then slowly lifted his hand to brush fingers against the corner of one eye. On his desk the tape recorder was already running. Jon’s lips twitched into the smile he’d suppressed before. After all, there was no need to hide from the Watcher.

“I hope you didn’t know about this,” Jon said. “Don’t think you can lie. When I find you, you’ll tell me.”

As Jon continued towards his desk to take his seat, Elias found his attention drawn to a different noise under the gusting wind, just to his right. A familiar whirring, soliciting a response Elias found himself wanting to give. Jon was not yet strong enough to truly compel him from this distance, but the attempt was oddly delightful. A shield, of sorts, against the chill of the sea air. So as Jon waited, Elias turned his attention briefly to the tape recorder that hadn’t been there just moments ago.

“I did know, Jon. But I think we both understand that there was never any question of that.” 

He hesitated, the temptation to confess stronger than he expected. Had Jon grown more powerful than he’d thought? He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, looking to Jon again. Trying to dig deeper, and finding only a door. One he lacked a key for, and not because Jon intended to keep him out. That route was closed to Jon as well. So it was not compulsion. 

When Elias continued, he did so with a wry smile. A dangerous game you’re playing, Peter had told him. Of course he’d noticed what connected Jon and Elias, beyond their shared patron. It was in his nature to notice these things, to see the faults in them. But that didn’t mean he was right. Unfortunately, it also didn’t mean he was entirely wrong.

“I will tell you. I want to tell you.” His mind filled with heady thoughts of an impossible future, where he wouldn’t need trickery to persuade Jon to speak the words that would grant them an eternity together. But you didn’t survive as long as he had, by trusting easily. Or by trusting at all.

But that was a matter for another time, when Jon was truly ready. As he was now, he hadn’t the capacity to understand. To know the terror, as Elias did. And to strive to truly defeat it, to escape it once and for all, the only way they could. 

“You have more to do. And we both know the dangers of distractions. Just trust that you are my greatest work. And a choice I have never regretted.” With the last, he laid his hand on the tape recorder, stroking a finger over it. Nothing like Jon’s skin, lacking his warmth, the way he shivered, and avoided Elias’s eyes, and met them all the same, wide and wanting. Yes, that would do for now. He had shown Jon who he was meant to be; now he must let Jon choose to become it.

Time ticked by. Jon’s hands found a pen on the desk and began rolling it back and forth in a rhythm that started slow and then steadily picked up pace. But Elias knew that Jon hadn’t misread the Boneturner’s intentions. He could see him limping towards the Archives, three hands clutching at the violently bleeding gashes Melanie had opened on his body. He’d scavenged a heart from one of his fallen comrades to gain the strength to reach his goal. And it was easy enough to borrow his eyes; the Flesh’s protection against Beholding was meagre, even in the best of states.

Jon’s hand froze atop the pen when Jared Hopworth entered his office, the door frame splintering as he pushed through.

“Archivist,” he growled, the word nearly lost in his low, gravelly voice. “I thought you’d have run by now.”

Elias watched Jon’s eyes follow Jared’s hulking form as he built himself up to his full height before him. Fear flickered across his features, igniting into a blaze that settled in the pit of his stomach. But the fear did not stop him. And his voice was steady when he spoke.

“I’ve been waiting to take your statement, Jared Hopworth.”

The Boneturner laughed, filling the Archives with the sound of wet meat tearing, tossing Jon’s desk aside and sending it crashing into the wall as easily as swatting a particularly annoying fly. “You’ll be dead before you can ask your questions.”

One of his hands closed over Jon’s throat, lifting him from his chair without any discernible effort. Jon’s hands went up instinctively as he struggled for air. An instinct he no longer needed, but hadn’t quite forgotten. At least until his struggles didn’t abate, did not slow as oxygen left him and an acute new fear took its place. The realization that he did not need air twinned with the horror of what else Jared might do, twisting him into a senseless creature of flesh, unable to hear or see or move, gifted only what touch was reluctantly given. Perverted, from the purpose he barely understood and yet still eagerly served. Until he slowly starved, deprived of secrets and sight. 

The panic remained, but underneath it coalesced something harder and more desperate. Sharpening his gaze to a point, shoving aside all other concerns until he focused that terror exactly where it was needed. Lips formed into a weapon, one he turned on his assailant.

“Then I won’t ask any.”

A current ran through Jared’s muscles, commanding them to squeeze the life out of Jon, yet he remained petrified. All his eyes widened at once, glimpsing the terrible truth before them, just as a scream tore out of many throats. And then they fell shut, his grip around Jon going slack, dropping him back into his chair with a violent thud.

Jon took a couple of deep breaths before getting up again. He limped slightly, though Elias couldn’t tell if it was pain or exhaustion. Slowly, he made his way towards his shattered desk, where his tape recorder sat, pristine and untouched. Jon knelt and checked if it was running. Sighing in relief, he set it aside, before began rummaging through the scattered remnants of his desk, shoulders going slack with relief as he tugged a soft blanket free. One Elias recognized, that brought a small smile to his lips as Jon wrapped it around his still shaking form.

Finally, he sagged against the wall. Wanting to sleep, but sleep was no longer as important as it’d once been. Not when something far more primal burned in his throat, wet and thick, twisting along his tongue.

“Statement of Jared Hopworth, the Boneturner. Statement extracted from subject, October 11th, 2017. Stat—”

He stumbled, and Elias stilled. But Jon didn’t falter for long. Tongue pressed to teeth, lips tightening to form the familiar words, fingers curling around the plastic. Every muscle taut, and waiting to be plucked. When he drew in his next breath, Elias drew it with him.

“Statement begins.”


End file.
